D  ON  Q.  IN 

THE  SIERRA 


BYK.&HESKETH  PRICHARD 


X 


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DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 


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"l    TELL    VOL     I     AM     A     BRITISH    SUBJECT 


DON  Q.   IN  THE 
SIERRA 


BY 

K.  AND  HESKETH  PRICHARD 

AUTHORS  OF  "CHRONICLES  OF 
DON  Q.."  ETC. 

WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY  FRANK  X.  CHAMBERLIN 


rx^rx:S3ciixiiDcir>arx:irx:^x^0a^Darx^rx^^3^ 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,  1905,  by  Ainslek  Magazinb  Company 

Copyright,  1906,  by  Ainslek  Magazine  Company 

Copyright,  1906,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 

Published^  November^  1906 


CONTENTS 
i 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  How  Don  Q.  Came  Back i 

II.  How  Don  Q.  Dealt  with  a  Famous  Cricketer.    30 

III.  How  Don  Q.  Dealt  with  a  Thief 57 

IV.  How  Don  Q.  Had  Need  of  a  Surgeon 82 

V.  How  Don  Q.  Fought  for  the  Valderejos 107 

VI.  How  Don  Q.  Dealt    with    Professor    Japsley, 

F.R.S.,  Ph.D 131 

VII.  How  Don  Q.  Kept  Christmas 154 

VIII.  How  Don  Q.  was  Asked  in  Marriage 180 

IX.  How  Don  Q.  Became  a  Squire  of  Dames 205 

X.  How  Don  Q.  Attended  a  Bull-Fight 232 

XI.  How  Don  Q.  Played    Substitute 261 

XII.    How  the  End  Came 287 

6 


M69Si882 


UST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

**I  tell  you  I  am  a  British  subject!" Frontispiece. 

*'  Ah !    So  you  perceive  who  I  am !  " 24 

They   came  upon   an   encampment  of  wild-looking  men 

seated  round  a  blazing  fire 92 

There  was  a  rush  and  a  hubbub  among  the  spectators 124 

On  and  on  he  ran 176 

He  made  out  that  he  was  lying  beside  a  fire  on  the  stone 

floor  194 

Sebastian  fell  full  length  beside  the  dying  bull 254 

**To  overtake  a  woman  who  has  lost  all  her  friends  is 

a  triumph  to  boast  of." 272 

7 


DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 


CHAPTER  I 

HOW  DON   Q.    CAME  BACK 

Those  who  read  the  last  chronicles  of  Don  Q. 
may  remember  that,  after  he  defeated  Don  Hugo's 
long-planned  expedition  into  the  mountains,  he  dis- 
appeared. There  were  but  three  people  in  the  world 
who  believed  that  he  still  lived ;  one  of  these  was  far 
away  in  England,  the  two  others,  the  hunter  Robledo 
and  his  wife,  dwelt  for  a  time  in  the  little  white  city 
under  the  foothills.  At  first,  these  two  expected 
news  of  their  master  almost  daily,  but  months, 
and  even  years,  rolled  by,  and  Don  Q.'s  fame  was 
already  passing  into  history  in  the  sierra. 

Now  that  he  was  gone  the  romantic  heart  of  Spain 
forgot  the  darker  shades  of  his  character  and  re- 
membered chiefly  his  virtues — the  splendour  of  his 
generosities,  his  almost  diabolic  courage,  his  spirit 
of  chivalry,  and  perhaps  most  of  all,  his  unswerving 
fidelity  to  the  poorest  who  served  him.  The  people 
missed  the  glamour  of  that  mysterious  life  among 
the  mountains,  which  was  only  enhanced  by  the 
flashlight  illumination  of  his  exploits.     They  con- 

9 


lo  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

tinued  to  speculate  curiously  on  those  unspoken 
wrongs,  which  had  driven  him,  a  man  of  high  birth 
and  lineage,  to  the  lawless  shelter  of  the  sierra ;  they 
loved  to  explain  to  strangers  the  reason  of  the  name, 
Don  Q.,  by  which  alone  they  knew  him.  It  was 
not  so  much,  they  would  say,  that  he  possessed  some 
facial  resemblance  to  the  quebrantchhuesos,  the  bone- 
breaking  vulture,  but  rather  that  his  dealings  with 
the  world  at  large  were  marked  by  the  same  terrible 
finality  which  searched  deep  to  the  very  marrow  of 
being. 

In  the  ventas  and  the  little  wayside  wineshops, 
men's  mouths  were  filled  with  his  praise;  one  heard 
but  laments  for  the  lost  friend  of  the  poor — "Ahi, 
Dios  mio,  when  the  eagle  was  up  above,  there  were 
no  hawks,  now  there  are  many  hawks  and  no  eagle." 
This  grew  into  a  saying. 

Amongst  those  hawks — certain  petty  robbers  and 
thieves — at  length  arose  one  of  large  ambitions,  who 
aspired  to  wear  the  mantle  of  Don  Q.  He  named 
himself  El  Zurriago,  anglice,  the  Whip,  by  which 
appellation  this  modern  Jeroboam  desired  to  an- 
nounce to  the  country-side  that  his  little  finger  would 
be  thicker  than  his  predecessor's  loins.  He  kept  his 
word,  indeed,  after  his  own  reading  of  the  matter, 
which,  however,  differed  vastly  from  the  traditions 
of  Don  Q. 

For  EI  Zurriago,  although  he  now  and  then 
made  a  prisoner  of  sufficient  wealth  or  rank  to  be 
held  to  ransom,  filled  in  most  of  his  time  with 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  ii 

harrying  the  weak,  the  indigent,  the  already  hungry. 
The  February  nights  after  his  advent  were  Ht  with 
the  flames  of  burning  huts,  or  outlying  dwellings 
of  hill  villages,  where  all  were  "  poor  to  solemnity." 
In  a  word.  El  Zurriago  and  his  wolf-pack  ran  amok 
through  the  land,  for  he  was  a  man  without  bowels 
of  mercy,  who  gave  license  to  his  followers  to  com- 
mit deeds  which  struck  remonstrance  cold. 

Witness  the  story  of  the  wife  of  Tomas,  the 
charcoal  burner — she  who,  with  unhealed  scars  upon 
her  face  and  unbalanced  mind,  still  nursed  the  only 
one  left  alive  to  her  of  her  brown,  bare-footed  brood. 
And  this  under  the  same  sky  and  on  the  same  stage 
where  legends  lingered  of  Don  Q.'s  jealously 
guarded  honour  of  reward  and  punishment,  and  his 
inviolable  recognition  of  the  claims  of  the  poor. 

Further,  it  was  owned  that  more  than  one  priest 
sighed  as  he  toiled  about  his  cliffside  cure  to  think 
that  the  tolling  of  his  bell  would  no  more  bring 
stragglers  from  the  wild  band  in  the  Boca  de  Lobo — 
stricken  into  reverence  by  their  soft- voiced,  terrible 
captain — travelling  down  the  mountains  to  mass,  or 
even  to  confession,  for  Don  Q.  was  always  a  good 
Catholic. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  in  waste  places  the  rare 
lights  were  covered  while  the  night  wind,  laden  with 
terror,  howled  at  the  doors  ?  "  El  Zurriago  is  a 
man  of  dread,"  said  the  peasants  who  cling  about 
those  hills ;  '*  he  walks  in  the  darkness,  he  knocks 
with  the  naked  knuckle-bone  upon  the  door." 


12  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Now  there  was  one  person  to  whose  heart  these 
doings  brought  something  very  Hke  despair,  who 
argued  to  himself  that  if  his  master  still  lived  such 
things  could  not  continue.  This  was  Robledo,  once 
the  most  favoured  follower  of  Don  Q.  After  his 
marriage,  the  life  of  the  city  soon  palled  upon  him, 
and  he  journeyed  into  the  mid  levels  of  the  sierra 
with  his  wife,  and  there  upon  the  south  side  of  a 
group  of  granite  boulders,  amongst  which  thickets 
of  elder  and  laurustinus  thrust  out  ragged  branches, 
he,  being  a  skilled  woodsman,  built  a  dwelling. 
Over  the  lintel  he  carved  a  cross,  and  provided  one 
or  two  simple  necessaries  to  signify  that  here  was 
a  posada,  an  inn,  where  wayfarers  could  be  provided 
with  shelter,  salt,  and  a  glass  of  aguardiente. 

It  was  a  long,  low  windowless  place,  with  a  bench 
by  the  wall  inside  the  door,  and  opposite  to  it  the 
small  counter  with  its  half-dozen  glasses,  backed  by 
a  recess  where  the  wineskins  bulged  dimly  in  the 
gloom.  At  one  end  of  the  house  Isabellilla  kept  her 
cooking-pots,  at  the  other,  lost  to  sight,  though  not 
perhaps  to  the  perception  of  other  senses,  lodged 
Robledo's  mule.  The  means  of  entertainment  were 
slight,  yet  parties  of  sportsmen,  attracted  by  the 
fame  of  the  hunter,  came  and  slept  uncomplainingly 
on  the  earthen  floor,  and  were  afterwards  led  to 
seek  ibex  by  Robledo  into  the  mountains  he  knew  so 
well. 

This  move  into  the  sierra  had  given  a  fresh  lease 
of  life  to  the  expectation  of  Don  Q.'s  return,  and. 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  13 

during  their  first  bleak  winter  there,  any  sound  of 
wind  or  falling  stone  would  bring  Robledo  springing 
to  the  door,  with  the  fierce,  handsome  face  of  his 
wife  peering  over  his  shoulder.  Their  hopes  sur- 
vived many  disappointments,  but  not  until  the  par- 
ody of  El  Zurriago's  career  had  lasted  for  some  time 
did  despair  lay  his  grip  upon  them. 

Now  about  the  period  when  this  narrative  opens, 
Robledo  was  expecting  one  of  the  occasional  sports- 
men who  visited  his  inn.  The  matter  had  been 
arranged  by  letter,  and  to  none  had  Robledo  or  his 
wife  spoken  of  the  matter ;  yet  rumour  carried  to  the 
ears  of  El  Zurriago  the  fact  that  the  ca^ador  was 
expecting  an  English  nobleman  of  fabulous  fortune 
to  hunt  in  the  sierra. 

Upon  this,  El  Zurriago  issued  his  commands  to 
Robledo.  The  English  lord  was  to  be  betrayed  into 
the  hands  of  the  bandit,  or  the  inn  would  be  burnt 
to  the  ground  and  its  inmates  be  given  over  to  a  fate 
of  unqualified  horror. 

As  dark  fell,  the  door  was  closed  and  barred  on 
the  crying  wind,  and  the  couple  in  the  lonely  inn 
spoke  at  intervals  of  the  evil  fortune  that  threatened 
them.  A  rushlight  lit  up  the  shadows  of  the  interior. 
Isabellilla  was  frying  pancakes  in  the  fat  of  a  deer 
that  her  husband,  who  could  not  altogether  keep 
to  the  paths  of  virtue,  had  poached  from  a  distant 
preserve.  The  girl's  hair  was  dressed  becomingly 
as  of  old,  her  coarse  yellow  skirt  did  not  hide  the 
slender  ankles  formerly  so  much  admired  in  the 


14  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

streets  of  Malaga,  and  except  that  perhaps  her  face 
was  a  Httle  paler,  her  bust  a  little  fuller,  there 
was  no  change  in  her  beauty.  Now  and  then  she 
would  glance  nervously  back  over  her  shoulder,  and 
Robledo  on  the  bench  by  the  door  sat  brooding  and 
dejected,  listening  to  the  wind  which  howled  dry- 
eyed  without. 

A  sudden  stamp  and  a  snort  broke  in  upon  the 
tension  of  the  moment.  Isabellilla  whirled  round, 
her  eyes  brilliant  as  ever  and  with  the  same  smoulder 
of  temper.  Robledo,  without  changing  his  attitude, 
nodded  slightly. 

"  It  is  but  the  mule,  Leon,"  he  muttered. 

"An  apoplexy  take  him!  May  he  die  on  his 
head ! "  exclaimed  the  girl,  lowering  her  voice, 
"  and  El  Zurriago  also !  What  answer  did  you  send 
him?" 

"None;  it  is  wiser  to  be  silent  than  to  offend." 

"  You  will  not  give  this  Englishman  to  him  ?  " 

The  young  man  roused  himself.  "  I  have  eaten 
my  lord,  Don  Q.'s,  salt.  Shall  I  serve  another?" 
he  asked  hotly. 

"Hush,  hush!"  Isabellilla  stood  staring  into 
the  shadows.  "  The  Englishman  comes  to-morrow, 
very  soon  El  Zurriago  will  know — then  what  is  to 
become  of  us?  Saints  in  Paradise!  these  are  hard 
times !  It  is  in  my  heart,  Robledo,  that  if  you  save 
this  Englishman,  we  will  die  like  scorched  flies  here 
in  the  mountains !  " 

Robledo  lifted  his  head,     "  It  may  be,  yet  the 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  15 

mother  of  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  die  in  a 
town ! "  he  exclaimed  with  fervour. 

The  girl  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  slipped  her 
arm  across  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  now  two  years  since  you  were  a  brigand, 
beloved,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  and  yet  my 
lord  keeps  silence.     Men  say  he  is  dead." 

Robledo  sighed  heavily.  "  I  have  not  believed 
it,  for  my  lord  promised  he  would  return.  I  have 
waited — day  by  day  I  have  said :  *  To-day  my  lord 
will  come,  and  throw  the  carcase  of  El  Zurriago  to 
the  vultures ! '  "    He  broke  off. 

"  Perhaps  my  lord  journeys  far  away — perhaps 
to  Cuba,"  suggested  his  wife. 

"  No,  no !  While  my  lord  lived  he  heard  every- 
thing, he  knew  everything.  If  he  were  yet  alive 
would  he  not  have  heard  long  ago  of  El  Zurriago?  " 
His  voice  sank  to  a  toneless  whisper.  "  No,  my  lord 
is  dead!" 

His  wife  leaned  closer.  ".Beware,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  one  moves  round  the  house." 

Robledo  snatched  up  his  gun,  Isabellilla  covered 
the  rushlight.  She  had  not  been  Robledo's  wife 
so  long  without  learning  that  the  man  who  enters 
a  room  lit  only  by  the  glow  of  red-hot  charcoal 
is  at  a  disadvantage  as  compared  with  one  already 
within.  These  two  lived  with  perceptions  that  their 
mode  of  life  had  strung  to  perpetual  alarm. 

A  sharp  rattle  drummed  on  the  door.  The  man 
and  woman  stood  hushed  and  tense,  listening  in  the 


i6  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

gloom.  Was  it  a  scurry  of  pebbles  blast-driven,  or 
stones  thrown  by  a  human  hand? 

"  None  pass  at  this  hour,"  she  muttered,  "  Blessed 
be  Heaven  you  carved  a  cross  on  the  lintel ! " 

Robledo  shook  off  her  grasp,  and  flung  open  the 
door  on  a  night  of  storm  and  stars.  "  Who  is  there? 
Come  in,  or  I  fire." 

A  sound  of  squeaking  leather  answered  him  as 
of  a  man  dismounting  from  the  saddle. 

''Ahi,  Dios  mio?  "  moaned  the  woman,  "  it  is  the 
civile."  (The  Civil  Guard,  who  are  the  terror  of 
evildoers,  but  the  succour  of  any  in  peril  or  distress 
throughout  the  land  of  Spain.) 

"Are  you  not  the  cazador,  Robledo? "  asked 
a  quiet  voice  in  halting  Spanish  from  the  night  out- 
side. "  I  am  Lord  Guy  Barwood ;  do  you  not  expect 
me?" 

Robledo  ran  out.  "A  thousand  pardons,  excel- 
lency, we  did  not  expect  you  until  to-morrow;  a 
thousand  pardons,  but  these  are  wild  times  up  here 
in  the  sierra.  I  am,  indeed,  Robledo  the  cazador, 
and  this  is  my  poor  house.  It  and  all  within  It  are 
at  your  service.  Enter,  I  pray  you,  and  I  will  stable 
your  horse." 

The  stranger  entered,  pulling  open  his  fur  coat 
to  get  at  his  pince-nez,  which  he  set  on  the  bony 
ridge  of  his  nose  to  look  round  the  house. 

"  Is  there  not  a  fire,  patrona?  "  he  said  in  the  same 
cold  voice  and  diffident  Spanish. 

Isabellilla  hastened  to  lay  together  some  pieces 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  17 

of  wocxi,  apologising  as  she  did  so  for  the  smoke.  But 
she  was  not  too  busy  to  inspect  the  sportsman.  Her 
survey  satisfied  her,  for  he  looked  rich  indeed,  from 
the  beauty  of  his  furs  to  the  fine  leather  of  his 
leggings  and  the  solidity  of  his  unmistakably  English 
boots.  Isabellilla  had  become  something  of  a  con- 
noisseur in  sportsmen. 

Lord  Guy  sat  down  on  the  bench,  and  taking  off 
his  cap,  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  thick  dark 
hair  and  beard,  but  he  did  not  speak  until  Robledo 
led  a  mule  into  the  doorway. 

''You  are  alone,  excellency?"  the  mountaineer 
said  with  much  surprise. 

Lord  Guy  put  on  his  glasses  again.  "  They  told 
me  in  the  plains  that  a  mule  was  safer  than  a  horse 
in  the  sierra."  He  seemed  to  find  his  words  with 
difficulty.  "And  two  Guardias  Civiles  escorted  me 
to  the  wood  in  the  valley,  and  put  me  on  this  path. 
My — my — baggage  comes  to-morrow." 

In  silence  Robledo  stabled  the  mule  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance from  his  own,  in  silence  his  wife  prepared  the 
best  fare  she  had  in  the  house.  Their  guest  ate 
sparingly,  and  also  in  silence,  but  when  the  last  olive 
stone  dropped  upon  his  plate,  he  lit  his  curved  pipe 
and  turned  to  Robledo. 

"  Now  of  the  ibex,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  have  good 
sport?" 

Robledo  stood  before  him.  "  There  is  no  longer 
any  sport  in  the  sierra,  excellency,"  he  said  fiercely. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
2 


i8  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Isabellilla  wrung  her  hands  and  struck  her  bosom. 
"  It  is  not  his  fault,  excellency." 

But  the  Englishman  was  still  looking  sternly  at 
Robledo.     "  Speak !  "  he  ordered.     "  Explain !  " 

"  There  is  danger  in  the  mountains  for  travellers," 
repeated  the  ca^ador,  "  danger  that  lies  in  wait  up 
above  there." 

"  Do  you  mean  brigands — are  they  not  always 
in  your  sierra!  I  have  heard  of  some  Don  Z.  or 
Don  Q." 

Isabellilla  brought  her  palms  sharply  together. 
"Alas !  excellency,  Don  Q.  is  dead ! " 

Lord  Guy  appeared  rather  taken  aback.  "  Do 
you,  then  regret  him  ?  " 

Robledo  and  his  wife  looked  at  one  another.  This 
would  certainly  be  an  awkward  admission  to  make. 
Then  Robledo  spoke. 

"  Had  your  excellency  been  fortunate  enough  to 
have  been  entertained  by  Don  Q.,  that  would  have 
been  an  honour,  believe  me.  For  Don  Q.  was  the 
friend  of  princes.  But  this  El  Zurriago,  although  he 
boasts  of  himself,  is  but  a  vile  dog  of  the  gutter,  one 
who  would  eat  offal  in  the  streets;"  and  he  spat 
forcibly  into  the  flames. 

"All  brigands  are  alike,"  commented  Lord  Guy, 
scornfully. 

"  Pardon,  excellency ! "  exclaimed  Robledo,  af- 
fronted, "  you  did  not  know  Don  Q." 

"  Did  you^  "  demanded  the  Englishman,  grimly. 

Robledo  hesitated.    "  My  papers  are  all  in  order, 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  19 

excellency.  Have  not  many  at  the  foothills  told 
you  that  I  am  an  honest  man,  and  that  none  meet 
with — trouble  who  go  with  me  into  the  mountains?  '* 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  this  is  so ;  therefore  I  shall 
certainly  hunt  ibex  to-morrow,"  was  the  answer. 

"  You  will  of  a  surety  fall  into  the  hands  of  El 
Zurriago.  He  may  shoot  me,  but  I  cannot  save 
you.  Thus  you  will  be  shamed,  for  El  Zurriago  is 
not  a  true  seqnestrador  who  holds  to  ransom,  but  a 
mean  and  vile  thief  who  has  sought  refuge  in  the 
sierra.  Afterwards  he  will  come  down  and  burn 
my  posada  and  my  wife  in  it,"  said  Robledo.  "  Turn 
back,  excellency,  I  beseech  you!  " 

"  I  never  turn  back,"  said  Lord  Guy  in  his  cold, 
indifferent  voice. 

Silence  dropped  on  the  little  group.  Without 
the  wind  tore  at  the  walls,  and  to  the  hunter  and 
his  wife  a  sense  of  loneliness  and  impending  doom 
seemed  to  creep  in  with  its  moaning. 

"  Then  we  perish,"  said  Robledo  at  last  very 
quietly.  Isabellilla  turned  away  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

Lord  Guy  rose.  "  It  is  time  to  sleep.  Give  me 
a  glass  of  aguardiente,  patron;"  he  followed  Rob- 
ledo to  the  counter;  "also  a  second  glass  for  the 
patrona,  and  a  third  for  yourself.  Now,  let  us  drink 
to  the  old  days,  my  children ! "  he  added  in  a 
changed  voice,  which  caused  Isabellilla  to  whip  round 
with  a  scream. 

The  figure  was  indeed  that  of  Lord  Guy,  but  his 


20  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

pince-nez  dangled  uselessly  across  his  breast,  his 
wig  and  whiskers  lay  on  the  counter,  and  it  was 
Don  Q.'s  bald  head  and  well-known  face  that  bowed 
in  grave  courtesy  before  her. 

"  My  lord  has  come  to  save  us,"  she  sobbed. 

Robledo  and  his  wife  looked  at  one  another.  This 
Zurriago,  lord — "  he  began. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  heard  of  him  in  England,"  said  Don 
Q.,  "  and  also  they  told  me  much  in  the  plains." 

"  My  lord  will  kill  him ! "  exclaimed  the  young 
mountaineer,  leaping  up  eagerly.  "  I  know  where 
Caspar  lives — in  Barcelona — Pablo,  Estaban.  In 
a  week  I  can  gather  forty  of  my  old  comrades,  and 
my  lord  will  lead  them  into  the  sierra — " 

Don  Q.'s  geniality  disappeared.  **  Have  I  asked 
for  suggestions  ?  "  he  inquired  harshly. 

Robledo  hung  his  head. 

"  Your  tongue  has  grown  loose  during  my  ab- 
sence, Robledo,"  went  on  Don  Q.  "  It  is  a  fault  you 
must  hasten  to  correct.  To-morrow  at  daybreak  you 
and  the  English  sportsman,  Lord  Guy  Barwood, 
will  start  to  shoot  ibex  in  the  high  gorges." 

He  spoke  no  further  word  that  night. 


CHAPTER     II 
HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK — (continued) 

It  was  yet  black  dark  and  very  cold  when  Isabell- 
illa,  hooded  in  her  shawl,  brewed  steaming  chocolate, 
such  as  men  drink  in  the  hill  villages,  for  Don  Q. 
and  her  husband.  Later  she  watched  them  vanish 
into  the  gloom  that  yet  hung  about  the  valley.  Lord 
Guy  rode  ahead,  his  rifle  slung  behind  his  saddle, 
while  Robledo  followed  on  foot,  leading  his  own 
mule,  laden  with  bedding,  food,  cooking  pots,  and  his 
employer's  valise.  The  stars  were  now  hidden,  and 
as  they  rode  the  ink-black  night  turned  ashen,  hard- 
ened into  bleak  stencillings,  and  then  the  light  of 
dawn  filtered  through  the  air  like  milk  through  a  cup 
of  tea.    The  sun  rose  with  a  chilly  shower. 

By  vague  bridle-paths  the  casador  and  the  pre- 
tended Lord  Guy  travelled  upon  their  way,  hardly 
exchanging  a  word  as  they  mounted  from  one 
sombre  defile  to  another.  A  forsaken  land  this,  with 
not  a  hut  to  break  its  solitude ;  the  sole  reminder  that 
man  had  ever  trod  those  lonely  trails  were  the 
ghastly  tokens  set  up  to  show  that  here  or  there  one 
had  been  done  to  death  by  violence,  and  to  implore 
passers-by  to  remember  in  their  prayers  the  shudder- 
ing souls  hurried  unshriven  into  eternity. 

Clouds  drew  up  to  the  zenith,  and  the  sierra  put 
on  its  most  forbidding  aspect,  and  for  the  first  time 

21 


22  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

in  his  life  Robledo  felt  the  menace  of  their  enfold- 
ing. Even  his  seasoned  courage  was  shaken  as  the 
grey  shoulders  of  the  hills  closed  in  behind  them, 
for  he  had  expected  a  rendezvous  with  his  old  com- 
rades of  the  Boca  de  Lobo.  But  as  they  entered 
one  sinister  ravine  after  another  his  hope  failed,  and 
some  shadow  of  Don  Q.'s  plan  came  to  his  appre- 
hension. 

Knowing  as  he  did  the  almost  fiendish  intrepidity 
of  his  master,  he  yet  found  it  difficult  to  believe 
that  Don  Q.  actually  intended  facing  El  Zurriago 
practically  singled-handed,  even  perhaps  allowing 
himself  to  be  made  prisoner.  A  premonition  of  evil 
weighed  upon  the  young  mountaineer  until  the  frail 
figure  ahead  chanced  to  turn,  and  Robledo  saw  the 
angled  face  eye-bright  with  anticipation  of  conflict. 

So  evening  drew  on,  and  in  the  mouth  of  a  snow- 
streaked  valley,  Robledo  pitched  camp  under  the  lee 
of  a  clump  of  firs.  Now  it  is  hard  to  know  what 
Don  Q.  might  have  done  had  the  development  for 
which  he  waited  been  delayed.  But  it  came  that 
same  evening.  The  raven  and  his  mate,  first  of 
birds  to  foretell  the  night,  were  already  flapping  to 
their  roost  in  some  mist-hidden  cliff,  when  a  bullet 
sang  mournfully  over  the  camp  fire,  and  a  voice 
cried  out  to  the  Englishman  to  surrender. 

Lord  Guy  arranged  his  pince-nez  with  delibera- 
tion, and  surveyed  the  seven  or  eight  men  bound 
about  the  head  and  middle  with  garish  colours,  who 
gradually  drew  within  the  circle  of  the  firelight. 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  23 

It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  tell  of  the  fight  which 
followed.  Don  Q.  was  of  all  men  the  last  to  omit 
observance  of  any  detail  likely  to  lend  credibility  to 
the  role  he  chose  to  sustain.  In  this  case  it  is  probable 
that,  unless  he  desired  it,  he  would  never  have  been 
taken  at  all.  But  when  he  had,  with  Robledo's  help, 
thinned  the  eight  brigands  down  to  five,  he  sur- 
rendered with  all  dignity  and  some  of  the  honours 
of  war. 

"You  vermin  will  be  wise  not  to  interfere  too 
greatly  with  me,"  he  said  imperiously;  **  I  will 
accompany  you.     That  is  sufficient." 

He,  however,  submitted  to  be  bound  upon  his 
mule,  and  as  it  was  led  further  and  further  into  the 
remoter  gorges,  he  gave  way  to  a  train  of  thought, 
to  which  he  mentally  acknowledged  circumstances 
had  hitherto  forced  him  to  remain  a  complete 
stranger.  In  short,  he  was,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  a  prisoner,  and,  as  he  was  borne  on  towards  the 
brigands'  camp,  he  endeavoured  with  some  success 
to  analyse  the  hopes  and  fears  proper  to  a  man  in 
so  perilous  a  position.  He  found  this  occupation 
more  engrossing  than  he  had  imagined  possible, 
and  the  line  of  thought  led  him  so  far  afield  that  he 
was  surprised,  and  almost  disagreeably  brought  to 
earth  again,  when  the  party,  rounding  a  shoulder  of 
rock,  saw  below  them  the  camp  of  El  Zurriago. 

Upon  the  cliff-bound  slope  great  fires  burned, 
round  which  wild  men,  shaggy  with  their  life  among 
the  mountains,  were  squatting.    In  the  gloom,  above 


24  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

their  heads,  the  flames  made  gnomes  of  out-jutting 
crags  and  stumps,  and  gleamed  upon  the  outer  sur- 
faces of  a  black  couchant  boulder,  against  which 
stood  out  in  relief  a  rough  shelter  of  canvas,  closed 
to  the  public  eye  by  a  curtain  of  stained  and  ragged 
red. 

Don  Q.  was  scandalised  when  instead  of  the 
orderly  and  ceremonious  advent  formerly  accorded 
to  his  own  captives,  a  score  of  men  leaped  from  the 
fires,  and  ran  to  meet  him  with  uncouth  cries  and 
jeers.  They  pulled  and  pushed  the  mule  on  which 
he  was  riding  as  they  hurried  it  down  to  the  camp, 
where  twenty  hands  unbound  Lord  Guy's  ankles 
and  set  him  on  his  feet. 

A  sound  like  a  pistol-shot  echoed  at  the  same 
moment  round  the  cliff,  and  Lord  Guy  perceived 
a  burly  fellow  seated  on  an  overturned  barrel  where 
the  full  play  of  the  pine- fed  fire  beat  upon  him.  He 
held  a  whip  in  his  hand,  and  as  he  cracked  it  the  men 
rose  up  and  herded  together  behind  the  prisoner. 
Some  act  of  brutality  seemed  imminent.  El  Zurri- 
ago's  evil  reputation,  entirely  justified  by  his  aspect, 
promised  as  much.  Robledo  shivered  with  fury  as 
he  beheld  his  lord  standing  thus  exposed  to  the 
chance  of  insult. 

But  Lord  Guy  lost  no  time.  He  bowed  cere- 
moniously, as  a  man  bows  to  his  equal,  and  with  a 
suavity  that  made  amends  for  his  broken  Spanish, 
he  said : 

"  I  am  Lord  Guy  Barwood  from  England.     I 


AH,    SO    VOU    peRCCIVE    WHO    1    AM?" 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  25 

beg  to  introduce  myself,  seiior,  for  I  perceive  that 
you  are  the  captain  here." 

El  Zurriago  eyed  his  captive.  His  vicious  glance 
betrayed  perplexity. 

"Ah,  so  you  perceive  who  I  am  ?  "  he  sneered.  "  I 
am  the  Whip,  the  Scourge  of  the  sierra," 

Lord  Guy  bowed  again.  "  I  have  heard  of  you," 
he  said,  and  his  complimentary  tone  implied  that 
the  things  told  him  were  of  a  pleasant  nature. 

El  Zurriago  considered  this  sulkily,  biting  at  the 
handle  of  his  whip  meanwhile. 

"  Have  you  heard  what  happens  to  my  prison- 
ers? "  he  inquired  presently  with  a  twisted  grin. 

"  I  presume  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  find  a 
ransom." 

"  Not  so  easy  as  that,  you  English  pig !  I  will 
teach  you  very  soon.  Here,  comrades,  take  this 
man  and  tie  him  to  a  tree,  and  I  will  flog  the  skin 
from  his  back !  " 

To  his  surprise,   the  captive  listened  unmoved. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,"  he  shouted,  "  or 
you  would  grovel  for  mercy.  I  will  flay  you  alive ! 
— do  you  understand  now  ?  "  He  looked  again  for 
a  change  in  the  prisoner's  indifference,  but  could  dis- 
cern none.  He  repeated  his  threats  in  a  bellow,  and 
added :  "Are  you  dumb — ^have  you  nothing  to  say?  " 

Lord  Guy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Merely  that 
I  find  I  have  made  a  very  grave  mistake,"  he  replied ; 
but  he  had  exchanged  his  former  graciousness  for  a 
freezing  and  distant  manner. 


26  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

El  Zurriago  laughed  angrily.  "  You  imagined 
that  a  ransom — " 

"  More  than  that,"  interrupted  Lord  Guy.  "  I 
heard  of  a  brigand  in  the  sierra,  who  was  a  man 
of  birth  and  breeding,  one  with  whom  a  gentleman 
might  agreeably  keep  company,  and,  at  the  first 
glance,  I  believed  this  to  be  true — of  you." 

El  Zurriago  stood  quite  still,  amazed,  pondering 
on  this  reluctant  but  flattering  admission.  The  idea 
bit  deep — this  English  lord  had  taken  him,  El  Zurri- 
ago, for  a  man  of  birth !  Here  was  a  touch  upon  his 
weak  point,  the  chief  weakness  of  the  true  malcon- 
tent. 

"  Take  him  away,"  he  ordered  gruffly.  "  Lodge 
him  in  my  tent." 

"  I  cannot  escape  from  you,  therefore  I  request 
you  will  permit  my  cazador  to  unbind  me,"  said  the 
prisoner.  "  No,  no,  I  will  not  be  handled  again  by 
your  mountain  cats,  who  smell  intolerably  of  garlic." 

"  I  will  unbind  you  myself."  El  Zurriago  ap- 
proached. 

Lord  Guy  gave  him  a  quick  look.  "  I  should  cer- 
tainly prefer  it." 

"  Sefior,"  whispered  the  bandit  as  he  fingered 
the  knots,  "  you  have  divined  the  truth.  You  will 
find  that  I  am  surely  a  person  of  the  noblest  birth, 
of  the  most  superb  breeding.  But  before  these 
animals,  you  understand,  I  must  play  a  part." 


CHAPTER     III 

HOW  DON  Q.   CAME  BACK (contifiued) 

From  that  hour  began  a  veritable  "  Comedy  of 
Errors."  Like  a  bird  in  spring,  El  Zurriago 
assumed  his  finest  feathers  to  consolidate  the  good 
opinion  of  Lord  Guy.  He  recalled  all  that  he  had 
ever  heard  of  Don  Q.,  and  endeavoured  to  mould 
himself  upon  that  once  famous  type,  little  guessing 
under  whose  eyes  he  essayed  the  part. 

After  Robledo  had  been  despatched  to  the  city 
with  the  demand  for  the  Englishman's  ransom,  the 
time  passed  slowly,  and  every  day  saw  the  same 
routine  enacted.  El  Zurriago  set  himself  to  enter- 
tain his  prisoner,  and  in  the  evenings  across  a  bottle 
of  wine,  often  of  so  indifferent  a  quality  that  to  swal- 
low it  needed  all  the  courtesy  of  Lord  Guy  (or  shall 
we  say  of  Don  Q.  ?),  the  bandit  rambled  on  of  him- 
self and  his  deeds,  while  the  slender  figure  opposite 
sat  listening  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  polite  silence. 
Many  things  did  El  Zurriago  tell,  and  all  of  them 
tended  to  his  own  aggrandisement,  the  unalterable 
reserve  of  his  captive  only  driving  him  to  redouble 
his  boastings. 

It  must  be  owned  that  Lord  Guy  found  all  his 
nerves  grow  daily  more  irritated,  and  more  antag- 
onistic to  his  captor.  Though  the  words  hidalgo, 
caballero,  were  seldom  off  his  lips,  the  man's  habits, 

27 


28  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

his  very  personality,  awoke  in  his  prisoner  sensa- 
tions of  almost  physical  nausea.  For  instance,  El 
Zurriago  could  not  keep  his  distance,  he  must  always 
finger  and  touch  those  with  whom  he  spoke,  while 
he  thrust  his  face  into  that  of  his  interlocutor.  In- 
deed, he  had  long  ago  palled  upon  Don  Q.,  who  could 
overlook  much  because  he  understood  much  of 
humanity,  but  who  found  this  loud-patterned  bandit 
insufferable.  "  The  creature  during  his  unbridled 
career  in  the  sierra,"  he  wrote  later  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy, "  had  merged  into  the  sub-human,  the  mon- 
strous. He  bragged  of  his  brutalities  to  the  poverty- 
stricken,  which,  alas !  were  true ;  of  his  amours,  gro- 
tesquely apocryphal!  among  the  noble  names  of 
Spain — of  his  bad  faith  to  all." 

At  an  early  period  of  his  captivity  the  prisoner 
made  a  suggestion,  with  which  El  Zurriago  fell  in; 
this  was  that  a  palisade  of  reeds  or  brushwood  should 
be  erected  in  front  of  the  tent  in  which  they  took 
their  meals,  in  order  to  supply  two  needs.  The  one 
being  to  insure  greater  privacy,  the  other  to  keep 
off  the  wind,  which  at  that  season  blows  cold.  So 
it  was  done,  and  thereafter  Lord  Guy  and  his  captor 
dined  in  aristocratic  seclusion,  but  always  within  ear- 
shot of  the  band  where  they  lay  around  their  fires. 

Exactly  how  much  longer  this  state  of  affairs 
could  have  continued  it  is  not  in  the  historian's 
power  to  tell;  but  on  the  evening  of  Robledo's 
return  with  the  ransom-money,  a  conversation  arose 
which  hurried  events  to  their  conclusion. 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  29 

Up  to  that  date  the  name  of  Don  Q.  had  never 
once  been  spoken  by  El  Zurriago;  although  Lord 
Guy  sat  waiting  for  it  every  night,  the  egotism  of  his 
companion  kept  that  one  subject  jealously  excluded. 
The  itinerant  talk  had  droned  along  v^ell  into  the 
night,  its  burden  being,  as  usual,  the  past  love-affairs, 
the  present  exploits,  of  the  speaker. 

"  I  shall  miss  these  pleasant  conversations  when 
I  go  down  into  the  plains  to-morrow,"  observed 
Lord  Guy,  suddenly. 

El  Zurriago  started  from  the  rapture  of  his  vaunt- 
ings,  and  dropped  back  into  reality.  He  was  pecul- 
iarly annoyed  at  the  interruption,  which  cut  short 
a  tale  of  intrigue  with  a  duchess. 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  he  said  scowling.  "  Why  should 
you  go  to-morrow?" 

"  My  ransom  has  arrived,  what  is  there  to  detain 
me?" 

EI  Zurriago  leaned  forward.  "  This,  that  it  is 
not  my  will  to  let  you  go.  You  will  die  to-morrow. 
I  have  promised  my  men  that  they  shall  see  an  amus- 
ing death." 

"  But  surely  you  will  not  break  your  word.  I 
believed  you  to  be  a  person  of  honour,  senor." 

El  Zurriago  laughed  derisively.  "  I  am  not  Don 
Q.,"  he  said.  "  I  obtain  my  ransom,  but  I  allow 
nothing  to  rob  me  of  the  sport  of  watching  my 
prisoner  die !    You  have  perhaps  heard  of  Don  Q.  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,"  replied  Lord  Guy.  "  I  was  well 
acquainted  with  one  of  his  captives,  a  certain  Sir 


30  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Graham  Marks,  who,  at  his  house  in  England,  often 
tells  an  anecdote  over  the  wine  of  the  days  he  spent 
in  these  very  mountains  with  a  great  brigand.  What 
has  become  of  him?" 

That  Lord  Guy  should  remain  unmoved  even 
under  sentence  of  death  did  not  astonish  El  Zurriago, 
who  by  this  time  had  come  to  expect  almost  any- 
thing from  his  imperturbability.  But  words  in  praise 
of  Don  Q.  galled. 

"  Don  Q.  is  dead,"  he  answered  roughly. 

"I  have  gathered  that  he  was  not  unpopular 
among  the  strange  people  who  inhabit  your  moun- 
tains," observed  the  Englishman. 

El  Zurriago  tossed  his  head  and  made  a  gesture 
of  contempt.  "  It  may  be  so,  for,  see  you,  he  was 
one  of  themselves,  of  vulgar  birth." 

Lord  Guy  started,  but  controlled  himself.  "  Can 
this  be  true?  " 

"  I  can  swear  to  it.  Besides,  he  was  easy  to  deal 
with.  But  to  be  a  brigand  of  note  a  number  of  very 
great  qualities  are  required.  These  he  did  not 
possess.  A  fine  presence,  for  example,"  El  Zurriago 
tapped  himself  on  the  breast.  "  Look  upon  me ! 
Whereas  he  was  but  a  meagre,  sickly  fellow,  not 
five  feet  high." 

"  I  have  always  been  told  that  his  height  was 
exactly  five  feet  five  and  a  half  inches ! "  exclaimed 
Lord  Guy  with  unwonted  sharpness,  "  and  that  he 
looked  even  taller  by  reason  of  the  air  with  which  he 
carried  himself." 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  31 

El  Zurriago  laughed  irritably.  "  They  told  you 
wrong.  I  say  that  he  was  not  five  feet  high ;  more- 
over, he  did  not  appear  to  be  even  of  that  height, 
he  appeared  a  dwarf.  And  I  should  know,"  he 
ended  with  meaning. 

"  What  ?     You  were  acquainted  with  him  ?  " 

"  Intimately.  He  implored  me  again  and  again 
to  take  over  the  leadership  of  his  band.  He  desired 
to  serve  as  lieutenant  under  me." 

A  close  observer  might  have  noticed  Lord  Guy*s 
hand  open  and  close  firmly  as  though  he  were  crush- 
ing something. 

"  Why  did  you  not  accept  this  obliging  offer  ?  " 

"  Because  his  men  were  completely  out  of  hand. 
He  was  not  a  disciplinarian,  you  understand.  He 
was  a  coward  at  heart,  and  would  have  shielded 
himself  behind  me." 

"  Some  say  that  Don  Q.  is  not  dead.  He  may 
return,"  suggested  Lord  Guy. 

"  He  will  never  return !  "  cried  the  other. 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  ?  How  can  you  know  that 
he  is  dead?" 

El  Zurriago  hitched  his  packing-case  nearer,  and 
thrust  his  face  into  Lord  Guy's.  "  I  say  that  he  is 
dead.  And,  look  you,  senor,  I  should  know,  for  it 
was  I  who  killed  him !  " 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it  now.  Lord  Guy 
was  distinctly  moved. 

*' You  killed  him?  How  interesting!  I  trust 
he  made  a  good  end  ?  " 


32  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  No,  no !  He  screamed  for  mercy.  It  was  in- 
deed droll !    It  was  incredible !  " 

"  Incredible  ?  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that !  " 
Lord  Guy  dropped  his  voice,  and  muttered,  "  Five 
feet  high — a  dwarf !  " 

El  Zurriago  caught  the  words.  Pushing  back 
his  seat,  he  nodded.  "  Yes,  five  feet  high.  What 
could  you  expect  from  such  a  man  ?  " 

"  This !"  With  the  word  Lord  Guy  sprang  on  him 
across  the  table.  He  had  no  knife,  but  he  caught  up 
the  bottle  from  which  they  had  been  drinking  v/ine, 
and  struck  the  bandit  full  on  the  temple.  "  You,  a 
brigand — ^you,  a  sequestrador! "  he  hissed  as  he 
struck  again,  "  you,  who  are  but  a  cat  of  Madrid ! 
a  plucked  fowl ! "  For  a  fraction  of  a  second  El 
Zurriago's  eyes  stared  and  then  contracted  as  he 
fell  forwards,  striking  his  forehead  upon  the  table. 

With  the  extraordinary  quickness  that  character- 
ised his  moments  of  action,  Don  Q.  bound  his 
opponent's  hands  and  feet,  and  with  the  whip  pre- 
pared an  entirely  efficacious  form  of  gag.  Next, 
after  carefully  removing  his  own  false  beard  and 
wig,  he  found  a  cloak  and  sombrero,  which  he  put  on 
with  care  and  accurate  attention  to  effect.  Then  with 
the  other  man's  weapons  in  his  belt,  he  sat  down 
beside  the  table,  and  clapped  his  hands  with  a  reson- 
ant force. 

A  long  silence  followed.  El  Zurriago's  men  were 
not  accustomed  to  be  summoned  by  that  method, 
which  in  truth  savoured  too  much  of  the  difference 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  33 

of  class  and  would  have  been  resented  as  such  by  the 
band.  But  Robledo,  playing  cards  by  the  fire,  heard 
and  turned  his  head  to  listen  with  so  violent  a  move- 
ment that  the  cards  doubled  and  broke  in  his  clenched 
fist. 

After  an  interval  the  sound  came  again.  He 
leaped  up. 

"  It  is  my  lord.  I  must  go  to  him !  "  he  cried,  but 
half-a-dozen  men  flung  themselves  upon  him.  For 
a  moment  he  struggled  desperately,  but  numbers 
were  too  strong  for  him.  "  Come,  then,  to  the  tent 
of  your  capitan.  Has  he  ever  called  you  like  this? 
Hark!  "he  said. 

The  men  looked  at  one  another.  "  No,  he  is  not 
a  hidalgo  that  we  should  be  as  his  servants.  He 
dare  not  clap  his  hands  to  call  us." 

"  Then  who  claps?    Come  and  see." 

Not  a  man  remained  at  the  fire — a  long  straggling 
line  wound  round  the  end  of  the  palisade  and  massed 
before  the  tent  door.  The  curtains  were  thrown 
back,  and  within  lay  their  capitan  upon  the  ground, 
while  at  the  table  sat  a  silent,  sinister  figure,  such  as 
most  among  them  had  met  with  terror  in  their 
dreams.  They  stood  huddled  together  open-mouthed. 
From  within  El  Zurriago,  who  had  recovered  con- 
sciousness, stared  at  them  with  fury  and  appeal  in 
his  eyes.    But  none  heeded  him. 

At  length  Robledo's  excitement  burst  out  in  words. 

"  My  lord,  Don  Q.,  has  returned  to  the  sierra. 
Viva!    Viva!" 
8 


34  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

An  odd  noise  like  a  gasp  went  up  from  the  crowd. 

"  I  am  of  a  truth  Don  Q.,"  said  the  sibilant  voice 
softly,  "  and  you  have  all  of  you  heard  of  me  from 
your  cradles.    Is  not  that  so?  " 

A  quick  assent  broke  from  the  listeners. 

"  I  give  you  your  choice.  Here  is  your  captain. 
Choose  now  between  him  and  me." 

A  hubbub  of  noise  and  cheering  called  out  the 
echoes,  and  in  it  El  Zurriago  heard  the  warning  of  a 
speedy  death.  When  the  agitation  had  died  down, 
Don  Q.  spoke  again. 

"  Robledo,  you  will  divide  among  these  bandits  a 
sixth  of  the  ransom  you  have  brought  into  the  sierra 
for  Lord  Guy  Barwood.    Go,  my  children." 

"  It  is  of  a  truth  Don  Q.,  for  so  did  he  always 
call  his  followers,"  said  one  fellow  as  they  withdrew. 

Then  Don  Q.  took  the  whip  from  the  mouth  of 
El  Zurriago. 

"  You  have  heard  ?  "  he  asked.  "I  am  he  who  has 
none  of  the  qualities  of  a  great  brigand!  I  am  he 
who  is  not  five  feet  high ! "  he  added  furiously,  for 
this  indeed  was  the  unforgivable  insult  which 
wounded  the  diseased  vanity  that  had  its  root  set 
deep  among  the  contradictory  foundations  of  his 
strange  character. 

"  Kill  me  swiftly,"  was  El  Zurriago*s  reply. 

In  the  early  sunshine  the  man  was  taken  and  bound 
upon  the  back  of  Robledo's  old  mule,  and  several 
of  the  robbers  crowded  round  and  forced  the  animal 
to  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 


HOW  DON  Q.  CAME  BACK  35 

"  Shall  we  prick  him  with  our  knives  and  send 
him  over?  "  inquired  one  eager  renegade  of  his  new 
master. 

"  For  the  mule's  sake,  you  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  said  Don  Q.  "  Here,  Robledo,  take  this  man 
down  the  mountains  until  you  sight  the  Guardia 
Civile;  then  tie  this  label  upon  him,  and  drive  the 
mule  downwards." 

Some  hours  later  two  Civiles  came  upon  a  brows- 
ing mule,  upon  whose  back  sat  bound  a  man  who 
bore  this  label  across  his  breast : 
"  El  Zurriago, 
Passenger  to  any  prison  in  my 
Beloved  Spain. 

(signed)  Don  Q." 


CHAPTER    IV 

HOW  DON  Q.   DEALT  WITH  A   FAMOUS 
CRICKETER 

The  first  prisoners  taken  by  Don  Q.  after  his 
return  were  two  Englishmen,  named  Rimbolt  and 
Essenden.  It  was  to  the  enterprise  of  Robledo  that 
he  owed  them,  and  we  must  take  up  their  story  on 
the  evening  of  their  capture. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Rimbolt.  The  thing  is 
our  own  fault.  We  had  our  warning,  and  we  disre- 
garded it.  Consequently  we  are  here,"  said  Essen- 
den. 

Rimbolt  grunted  irritably  as  he  shifted  his  weight 
from  one  shoulder  to  another,  where  he  lay  propped, 
hands  and  feet  tied,  against  the  wattled  side  of  the 
choza. 

"  If  you  had  only  taken  my  advice  when  those 
fellows  began  to  close  in  on  us — well,  it  is  too  late 
to  talk  of  that  now,"  he  grumbled.  "  Here  we 
are  in  this  beastly  hencoop,  and  likely  to  be  kept 
here  goodness  knows  how  long!  We  are  helpless, 
yet  it  is  certain  from  all  I  have  heard  of  Don  Q., 
a  more  infamous  coward  does  not  breathe  in  Spain." 

"  Oh,  go  slow,"  said  Essenden.  "  His  worst 
enemies — and  he  has  an  army  of  them — do  not 
deny  him  the  quality  of  courage.  I  rather  look 
forward  to  seeing  him." 

80 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  37 

Rimbolt  jerked  out  an  impatient  word.  "All 
your  life,  my  good  Essenden,  you  have  been  an 
idealist.  Even  when  we  were  at  Charter-house 
you  used  to  take  things  in  this  easy  way.  It  looks 
like  a  fine  fortitude,  but  it  is  in  reality  a  form  of 
self-indulgence — you  don't  wish  to  recognise  the 
disagreeable  element  that  is  mixed  up  with  all  that 
one  does  or  experiences.  You  should  be  harder  with 
yourself." 

"  Recognising  the  disagreeable  won't  mend  our 
case,  I'm  afraid,"  suggested  Essenden,  good- 
humouredly. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it  is  better  to  face  facts," 
persisted  the  other.  "  You  talk  of  wanting  to  see 
Don  Q.  I  suppose  you  have  forgotten  what  that 
meeting  is  going  to  cost  us.  Certainly  a  great 
deal  more  money  than  I,  for  my  part,  can  afford." 

"  Very  likely.  Therefore  I  say  my  point  of  view 
is  the  more  reasonable.  Since  we  are  going  to 
pay  a  big  price,  let  us  enjoy  ourselves,  and  get  as 
much  of  a  run  as  we  can  for  our  money."  Essenden 
laughed  as  he  tried  to  stretch  his  cramped  limbs. 

"  We  shan't  think  it  much  of  a  run  when  this 
brute  sends  the  lobes  of  our  ears  down  to  Ingram 
at  the  Consulate  to  hurry  him  up  with  the  ransom," 
objected  Rimbolt. 

"  Let  us  hope  it  won't  come  to  that.  This  guide, 
Robledo,  tells  me  that  Don  Q.  is  a  very  courtly — " 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  listen  to  the  charming 
Robledo,   who  has  betrayed   us   into  our  present 


38  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

disgusting  position,  I  have  no  more  to  say ! "  And 
Rimbolt  turned  away  his  face  and  shut  his  eyes 
determinately. 

"  I  grant  you  Robledo  may  be  a  ruffian,  but  he's 
all  the  more  likely  to  be  able  to  speak  from  knowl- 
edge  of   Don   Q." 

A  short  silence  followed,  but  Rimbolt  could  not 
for  long  bottle  up  his  annoyance.  **  It  is  a  national 
disgrace  that  these  nests  of  robbers  should  be  al- 
lowed to  exist,"  he  began  again.  "  Wait  till  I  get 
back  to  the  coast  and  out  of  this  infernal  sierra,  and 
I  will  raise  such  a  hue  and  cry  that  the  Government 
will  be  forced  to  sweep  the  country  clear  of  such 
pests!  I  hope  to  see  our  friend  Robledo  garroted 
yet!" 

He  waited  for  a  reply,  but  Essenden  made  none, 
and  presently  he  resumed.  "  There  is  one  thing 
I  do  ask  of  you,  Essenden,  and  that  is  to  leave  me 
to  bargain  with  this  brigand.  I  know  how  fatally 
offhand  you  are  in  your  dealings,  but  I  expect  by  a 
little  judicious  management  to  get  off  cheaper  than 
you  expect." 

"All  right.  I'll  only  put  my  oar  in  if  things  get 
hot." 

Essenden  smiled  in  the  dusk.  He  could  picture 
Hammond  Rimbolt's  notion  of  tact ! 

"  Yes,  better  keep  quiet,  my  boy,  or  you  won't 
be  back  to  play  the  Australians  this  season,"  re- 
turned Rimbolt,  solemnly.  "  If  it  was  a  matter 
of  cricket,  I  should  be  the  first  to  ask  your  opinion, 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  39 

but  in  the  realities  of  life  you  must  allow  me  to 
consult  my  own." 

It  was  a  queer-grained  friendship,  if  friendship 
it  could  be  called  that  was  rather  long  acquaintance 
and  association.  Habit  more  than  actual  liking 
formed  its  foundation.  Certain  it  is  many  people 
wondered  why  Essenden  "  put  up  with  "  Hammond 
Rimbolt.  One  taste,  however,  was  common  to  both 
men — a  love  of  cricket,  and  this  created  a  bond 
between  them;  but  while  Essenden  was  a  great  bat 
with  a  world-wide  reputation,  Rimbolt  was  no  more 
than  a  respectable  player. 

Summer  was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  even 
in  the  high  passes,  and  the  wind  usually  so  cold 
and  pure  carried  now  the  scent  of  herb  and  drowsy 
flower.  The  two  Englishmen  had  undertaken  a 
short  walking  tour  in  the  sierra,  and  fell  among 
thieves  by  the  way.  During  a  midday  siesta  they 
were  set  on  and  overpowered  by  several  pictur- 
esque but  distinctly  dirty  mountaineers.  At  night, 
after  having  marched  a  long  distance,  they  were 
cast  into  a  bottle-shaped  hut  of  reeds  to  await 
orders  of  Don  Q.  The  sun  had  risen,  and  was 
drawing  out  the  strong  resinous  odour  of  the  fallen 
pine-needles,  when  Robledo  put  his  head  into  the 
choza. 

"  The  command  has  come,  excellencies.  We  are 
to  be  taken  to  the  Boca  de  Lobo." 

"  What  for?  "  asked  Rimbolt,  indignantl} 

"  Quien  sabe,  sehor?"  replied  Robledo;  and  not 


40  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

all  Rimbolt's  questions  could  get  any  other  answer 
from  him. 

The  Boca  de  Lobo  was  looking  its  best  when  the 
Englishmen,  emerging  from  the  tunnel  of  rock  that 
led  to  it,  passed  again  into  the  grateful  warmth  of 
mountain  sunshine.  A  number  of  men,  mostly 
leather-clad,  with  waistbands  of  scarlet  cloth,  were 
lounging  near  the  fires.  Far  up  the  surrounding 
cliffs  flowers  bloomed  along  the  ledges  where  the 
sun  touched  them  during  some  hour  of  his  daily 
round.  Against  the  sky  at  the  other  end  of  the 
gorge  a  string  of  wind-blown  pines  stood  aslant, 
whispering  to  a  breeze  that  scarcely  moved  their 
branches. 

Essenden  looked  round  with  some  curiosity,  and 
remarked  on  the  notable  absence  of  litter. 

"It  is  like  a  stage-scene — got  up  for  our  benefit, 
I  suppose  " — it  was  never  an  easy  matter  to  escape 
Rimbolt's  disdain — "  Tree  could  do  it  much  better 
at  His  Majesty's." 

**  Come  along.  They  say  Don  Q.  is  waiting  for 
us." 

"  Take  your  time,  Essenden.  It  will  do  him 
good  to  wait.  He  must  be  made  to  understand 
that  we  do  not  belong  to  the  common  run  of 
captives." 

As  they  advanced  along  the  terrace  that  led  to 
the  mouth  of  the  cave,  Don  Q.  rose  and  saluted 
them  in  his  usual  punctilious  manner.  Essenden 
took  off  his  hat  in  return,  but  Rimbolt  only  nodded. 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  41 

He  was  the  kind  of  Briton  who  believes  in  the  power 
of  impoHteness. 

Don  Q.  resumed  his  seat  and  eyed  the  two  men 
as  they  stood  side  by  side. 

"  May  I  inquire  your  names,  senors  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Rimbolt — Hammond  Rimbolt.  I 
daresay  you  .have  heard  of  me." 

The  brigand  in  his  coldest  tones  expressed  him- 
self desolate  to  confess  that  he  never  had  heard  his 
name. 

"  That's  a  pity ;  but  you  may  as  well  know  that 
I  am  a  man  about  whose  detention  a  good  deal  of 
noise  is  likely  to  be  made,  for  I  am  the  private 
secretary  of  Lord  Flitterby,  the  coming  Prime 
Minister  of  Great  Britain." 

"  During  my  stay  in  Great  Britain  I  have  heard 
of  Lx)rd  Flitterby,"  replied  Don  Q.  "  Let  us  hope 
that  he  values  his  private  secretary,  and  is  prepared 
to  make  some  sacrifice  to  regain  him." 

"You  mean  in  the  way  of  ransom?  Under  the 
circumstances  we  shall  no  doubt  be  forced  to  pay 
you  something.  Well,  how  soon  can  we  get  away 
to  Malaga  or  to  the  coast?"  demanded  Rimbolt, 
briskly. 

Don  Q.  lit  a  fresh  cigarette  before  he  answered. 
"  You  go  a  little  too  fast.  For  example,  I  have 
not  yet  heard  the  name  of  your  friend.  May  I 
ask ?  "    He  looked  at  Essenden. 

**  I  am  Egbert  Essenden,  senor,"  said  the  young 
man. 


42  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Don  Q.  put  a  slender  finger  to  his  forehead  reflec- 
tively.   "  I  seem  to  know  that  name." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  claim  to  be  anybody  in 
particular,"  admitted  its  owner. 

"  Nonsense !  Do  let  me  manage  the  affair !  " 
interrupted  Rimbolt.  "  You're  only  making  your- 
self cheap.  I  want  to  frighten  the  fellow  into 
releasing  us." 

Don  Q.  began  to  speak,  but  Rimbolt  overbore 
him. 

**  Egbert  Essenden  is  a  very  great  cricketer,  and 
has  played  for  England,"  adding  in  an  aside,  "  not 
that  he'll  know  much  about  that." 

To  their  astonishment,  the  brigand's  face  cleared, 
and  a  light  of  real  interest  came  into  it.  "  My  good 
fortune  overwhelms  me !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have 
long  desired  to  converse  upon  the  game  of  cricket 
with  one  who  entirely  understands  its  intricacies. 
I  now  know  why  your  name  seemed  familiar.  Are 
you  not  the  famous  '  Double  E.'  ?  " 

Rimbolt  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  That  is  his  nick- 
name on  the  cricket-field,"  he  said.  "  How  do  you 
come  to  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  of  late  spent  some  time  in  England," 
explained  Don  Q.,  "and  I  possess  many  English 
friends.  I  am  not  so  ignorant  of  your  national 
game  as  you  might  suppose.  In  fact,  I  made  a 
point  of  watching  one  or  two  cricket  matches  in 
your  country." 

"  You  can  talk  of  all  that  another  time,"  put  in 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  43 

Rimbolt.  "Just  now  we  want  to  hear  how  much 
money  you  intend  to  ask  for  by  way  of  ransom." 

Don  Q.  clapped  his  hands.  *'  Caspar,  you  will 
bring  a  chair  beside  mine  for  the  tall  sefior,  and 
conduct  the  lesser  one  to  the  end  of  the  terrace  out 
of  earshot.  This  will  afford  you  leisure,  Sefior 
Rimbolt,  to  ponder  on  the  subject  of  your  ransom 
until  I  am  prepared  to  discuss  the  matter  with  you. 
Now,  Don  Double  E.,  we  will  for  a  moment  interest 
ourselves  in  cricket.'* 

"  What  did  you  think  of  it  as  a  game  ?  "  asked 
Essenden,  falling  in  with  his  humour.  "  Did  you 
see  any  good  matches  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  so,  senor.  For  instance, 
I  was  passing  one  day  through  a  hamlet,  when  I 
perceived  a  number  of  men  in  coats  of  bright  colours 
issuing  from  an  inn.  I  followed  them  to  one  of  your 
beautiful  village  greens,  where  I  took  my  seat  on  a 
bench  placed  under  trees  upon  the  side  of  the  grass, 
and  from  there  gained  a  little  insight  into  your 
national  pastime." 

"  Pray  tell  me  what  happened,"  said  Essenden, 
sure  that  the  brigand's  view  would  be,  at  any  rate, 
novel. 

"  For  a  considerable  time  several  men — I  counted 
fifteen — performed  the  complicated  evolutions  nec- 
essary to  the  game.  My  sympathies  were  naturally 
with  the  persons  who  wielded  the  bat,  seeing  that 
each  stood  singlehanded  against  so  many  opponents." 
Don  Q.  looked  questioningly  at  the  cricketer. 


44  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  It  may  look  rather  one-sided,  seiior/'  replied 
Essenden  with  gravity,  "  but  I  can  assure  you  the 
batsman  very  often  has  the  best  of  it." 

"  I  confess  that  appearances  led  me  to  conclude 
otherwise.  A  gentleman,  who  had  been  batting  for 
several  minutes,  when  struck  upon  the  leg  by  the 
ball,  suddenly  walked  away  from  the  game,  and 
perceiving  my  bench  to  be  somewhat  isolated,  hast- 
ened to  throw  himself  upon  it  at  my  side.  He 
was  evidently  in  a  state  of  the  deepest  chagrin.  *  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  decision ! '  he  exclaimed.  I 
replied  sympathetically,  and  begged  him  to  inform 
me  of  the  particulars.  *  Why,  the  ball  did  not 
pitch  in  the  parish ! '  he  said,  *  I  have  been  swindled 
out ! '  I  inquired  who  had  swindled  him.  He  stared 
at  me.  'That  umpire,'  he  replied,  indicating  a 
strong  and  determined-looking  person  in  a  white 
coat.  *  Since  that  is  so,  you  must  at  once  seek 
redress,'  I  said,  and  rose  to  assist  him.  *  What  d'ye 
mean  ?  '  he  cried.  *  This,*  I  answered ;  '  if  you  have 
been  overreached  or  victimised  by  the  person  in  the 
white  coat,  I  will  aid  you  in  forcing  him  to  give  you 
redress,'  and  I  grasped  my  sword-stick  and  prepared 
to  accompany  him."    Don  Q.  paused. 

"And  what  followed  then?"  Essenden  allowed 
no  symptom  of  his  inward  amusement  to  appear. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  senor,  he  immediately 
began  to  mumble  excuses  for  the  man  in  fault,  and 
after  edging  further  and  further  away  from  me 
along  the  bench,  he  rose,  and  fled  at  full  speed 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  45 

towards  the  tent  in  which  his  comrades  were 
ensconced." 

Essenden  contrived  to  throw  into  his  face  the 
look  of  shocked  surprise  which  Don  Q.  obviously 
expected. 

"  I  have  often  revolved  this  episode  in  my  mind, 
senor,"  he  resumed,  "  but  never  yet  have  I  com- 
prehended it.  And  I  may  admit  I  have  occasionally 
regretted  that  I  did  not  follow  that  personage  to 
demand  an  explanation  of  his  churlish  behaviour. 
I  conclude  that  in  spite  of  his  comme-il-faut  exter- 
ior, he  must  have  been  a  man  of  no  breeding." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Essenden ;  "  I've 
occasionally  seen  something  of  the  same  sort 
myself." 

The  brigand  pondered  this  reply  before  he  spoke. 
"  Then  we  must  regard  it  as  an  eccentricity  merely," 
he  said.  "  Now  we  will  recall  your  friend,  and 
descend  for  a  short  time  to  the  coarse  details  of  busi- 
ness. It  is  fortunate,  senor,"  he  added  to  Rimbolt 
when  he  rejoined  them,  "  that  you  mentioned  the 
fact  of  Don  Double  E.'s  fame  as  a  cricketer  at  a 
critical  moment." 

Rimbolt  nodded  complacently  at  Essenden,  he 
felt  he  was  carrying  the  affair  through  with  credit. 
"  How  so?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  was  about  to  assess  your  ransoms  at  £1000 
each." 

"Ah,  indeed  ?  And  now  you  have  thought  better 
of  it!" 


46  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

''  But  certainly,  senor !  They  will  now  be 
double  that  amount;  in  fact,  £2000  each — £4000 
in  all." 

Rimbolt  flushed  angrily.  "  I  fear  you  had  better 
reconsider  that  decision.  You  will  be  lucky  to  get 
half  the  amount." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  senor,"  said  Don  Q.  with 
increasing  coldness,  "for  I  am  aware  I  have  a 
treasure  in  Don  Double  E.  All  England  would 
subscribe,  if  needful,  to  rescue  their  favourite." 

"  From  what  ?  Do  you  dare  to  threaten  us  ?  " 
Rimbolt  completely  lost  his  temper  under  the  blow 
to  his  self-satisfaction.  "  Suppose  we  do  not  choose 
to  pay  any  ransom — what  then?  " 

Don  Q.  waved  his  hand.  "  We  will  not  dwell 
upon  such  dismal  anticipations,"  he  said.  "  Send 
your  demands  down  the  mountains,  and  until  the 
answer  arrives  you  will  remain  as  my  guests." 

*'  This  is  absurd !  Suppose  our  ransoms  fail  to 
arrive?  How  long  are  we  to  remain  as — ^your 
guests  ?  " 

"  You  forgot,  senor,"  Don  Q.  replied  with  bleak 
indifference,  "  I  have  the  exigencies  of  my  position 
to  consider.  If  so  deplorable  a  situation  should 
arise,  you  will  indeed  remain — not  as  my  guests — 
but  as  the  guests  of  the  sierra  for  ever !  " 

A  long,  strained  silence  followed,  until  Don  Q. 
left  them  to  prepare  their  letters.  "  I  was  going 
to  suggest,"  said  Rimbolt  at  last,  "that  I  should 
write  to  Ingram.    My  name  may  have  some  influ- 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  47 

ence  with  him,   though  this  boor  knows  nothing 
of  it." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Essenden,  "  and  you  can  in- 
close my  letter  to  my  bankers.  They  will  have  to 
bustle  a  bit  to  send  £2000  for  me,  I  can  tell  you." 


CHAPTER    V 

HOW    DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    A    FAMOUS 

CRICKETER —  (  Continued  ) 

After  the  packet  had  been  despatched  down  the 
mountains  by  the  hand  of  Robledo,  the  reader  must 
imagine  the  quiet  passing  of  the  days.  Although 
Rimbolt  grumbled  incessantly,  this  period  was  a 
much  pleasanter  experience  than  either  of  the  cap- 
tives had  expected.  They  were  permitted  on  parole 
to  wander  as  they  liked  about  the  inclosed  glen  of 
the  Boca  de  Lobo,  and,  indeed,  became  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  the  guests  of  Don  Q. 

To  use  Essenden's  words,  Don  Q.  "  did  them 
very  well.'*  They  drank  excellent  wine,  and  throve 
on  the  fare  provided  for  them.  They  solaced  the 
hours  of  detention  with  tobacco.  They  played  cards, 
notably  picquet,  and  discovered  that  at  that  game 
the  brigand  had  few  equals.  They  expounded  to 
their  host  something  of  the  science  of  bridge,  and 
occasionally,  late  in  the  night,  the  stakes  rose  high, 
for  Rimbolt,  who  had  an  opinion  of  his  own  play, 
conceived  the  project  of  winning  back  a  sum  equiv- 
alent to  his  ransom  from  his  pale  antagonist.  He 
was  not  successful,  for  as  he  ever  afterwards 
complained,  the  cards  seemed  to  lay  always  against 
him. 

As  day  joined  day  in  the  bosom  of  Buddha, 
48 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER.  49 

Essenden  found  favour  with  Don  Q.,  while  Rimbolt 
as  surely  fell  from  grace.  Although  it  was  often  pos- 
sible to  discern  the  sadder  self  below,  Essenden  made 
a  pleasant  companion,  whose  fundamental  reserve  of 
character  was  discounted  by  his  readiness  to  be 
entertained  or  to  entertain.  Whereas  Rimbolt  was  a 
man  of  moods,  a  good  deal  occupied  with  himself 
and  his  own  feelings.  He  imagined  he  was  confer- 
ring a  favour  upon  the  brigand  by  accepting  his  hos- 
pitality, thus  his  early  grumblings  grew  into  imper- 
tinences, and  these  in  turn  into  manifest  affronts  as 
he  became  emboldened  by  Don  Q.'s  impassive  polite- 
ness. But  Essenden,  the  onlooker,  more  than  once 
caught  the  glance  with  which  the  brigand  followed 
Rimbolt,  and  at  length  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
break  the  silence  and  to  warn  his  companion. 

"  By  the  way,  don't  you  think  it  would  pay  to 
be  a  little  more  civil  to  our  host?  "  he  said. 

Rimbolt  regarded  him  from  under  a  disdainful 
eyebrow.     "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  truckling.'* 

"  You  may  offend  him  mortally,  and  he  has  it  in 
his  power  to  make  things  very  awkward  for  us." 

"  Doe^look  like  it?  "  sneered  the  other.  "  He 
knows  where  his'43est  interest  lies.  I  could  kick 
him  out  of  his  own  cave,  and  he  would  probably 
take  off  his  hat  and  beg  my  pardon." 

"  I  wouldn't  try  it,"  said  Essenden,  rather  drily. 
"  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  believe  your  attitude  is 
unwise." 

"And  I  beg  to  differ  with  you,"  retorted  Rimbolt. 

4 


50  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  You  will  find  before  we  leave  this  infernal  sierra 
that  my  method  of  making  the  man  respect  me  will 
prove  invaluable.  I  believe  he  already  regrets  hav- 
ing laid  hands  on  me.  May  I  add,  Essenden,  that  I 
do  not  appreciate  interference." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  returned  Essenden,  good-tem- 
peredly. 

And  so  the  subject  dropped,  with  the  result  that 
Don  Q.  addressed  more  and  more  of  his  conversation 
to  Essenden,  omitting  Rimbolt  excepting  in  so  far 
as  his  duty  as  host  demanded.  But  Rimbolt  had  no 
hesitation  about  obtruding  his  opinions,  and  these 
not  infrequently  were  expressed  in  a  manner  likely 
to  be  more  than  unpalatable  to  Don  Q.  Once  or 
twice  it  happened  that  the  brigand  was  on  the  point 
of  replying,  but  Essenden  always  threw  himself 
conversationally  into  the  breach,  and  open  war  re- 
mained undeclared. 

There  were  occasions  when  Rimbolt,  disgusted 
with  his  bad  luck  at  cards,  would  stalk  away  early 
to  his  couch  of  pine-boughs  and  furs,  constantly  fol- 
lowed by  the  glance  Essenden  had  grown  to  dread 
for  his  fellow-captive's  sake.  Often  when  Rimbolt 
withdrew,  the  brigand  would  thaw  from  his  silence, 
and  converse  with  Essenden  on  many  subjects  rang- 
ing from  brigandage  to  high  policy.  Indeed,  the 
young  man  soon  discovered  that  between  these  two 
topics  there  existed  a  strong  connection  in  the  mind 
of  his  companion.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  pity  that  we  have 
here  no  space  to  set  forth  the  gist  of  these  midnight 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  51 

interviews,  for  Don  Q.'s  point  of  view  was  apt  to  be 
original  and  often  not  lacking  in  humour,  but  it  is 
only  necessary  to  touch  upon  one  of  them,  since  it 
had  a  momentous  bearing  upon  the  future  of  this 
three-cornered  intercourse. 

**  Your  friend,  the  sefior  Rimbolt,  has  not  unseldom 
commented  on  the  brutalities  which  we  Spaniards  as 
a  nation  delight  to  witness.  He  had,  if  you  remem- 
ber, much  to  say  about  the  bull-ring  to-day.  But  he 
most  obstinately  denies  that  the  killing  of  bulls  in 
such  a  manner  is  a  form  of  sport  much  in  line  with 
your  method  of  killing  foxes  in  England.  Is  not 
that  a  truth?" 

"  Perhaps  one  may  say  so,"  replied  Essenden,  dip- 
lomatically, for  he  wanted  to  hear  more. 

"  Now  I  further  maintain,  sefior,  that  no  sport  can 
be  of  the  highest  character  that  does  not  include  the 
element  of  danger.  Much  as  I  admire  your  English 
cricket,  I  find  it  falls  very  far  short  in  this  respect." 

"  Why,  yes,  we  do  not  expect  to  get  killed  at 
any  moment  when  playing." 

"  I  contended  that  in  the  bull-ring  each  man  is 
aware  death  stands  at  his  elbow.  Your  friend,  who 
is,  pardon  me,  of  a  singular  blindness  where  British 
institutions  are  concerned,  upholds  that  a  batsman 
requires  as  much  sang  froid  to  defeat  the  ball  sent 
against  him,  as  a  matador  who  waits  to  give  the 
death-blow.  He  argues  that  to  win  the  game  is  the 
important  point  in  both  cases,  and  that,  therefore, 
an  equal  amount  of  emotion  is  felt  in  both.     One 


52  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

sees  the  futility  of  arguing  with  a  prejudice.  But 
it  has  struck  me  that  in  one  particular  way  even 
sefior  Rimbolt  could  be  convinced  of  the  truth.  Sup- 
pose he  were  to  participate  in  a  game  of  cricket 
where  a  slight  error  with  the  bat  or  the  ball  would 
place  the  player  in  peril  of  his  life?  " 

"  Cricket  under  such  conditions  is  not  possible," 
said  Essenden,  smiling,  "  and,  personally,  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  take  part  in  it." 

**  On  the  contrary,  a  little  cricket  under  such  con- 
ditions could  very  readily  be  arranged,  my  friend," 
insisted  Don  Q.,  much  interested.  "  Let  us  imagine 
an  open  keg  of  powder  for  a  wicket,  and  instead  of 
those  small  cylinders  of  wood  we  should  balance 
delicately  on  the  top  a  mere  mariposa — a  rushlight. 
The  aim  of  those  who  threw  the  ball  would  be  to 
overturn  the  light  into  the  powder,  while  the  wielder 
of  the  bat  would  endeavour  to  baffle  that  intention." 

"  The  rushlight  instead  of  balls !  I  shall  not  ask 
a  place  in  that  match,  sefior !  " 

"  If  by  any  chance,"  resumed  Don  Q.,  musingly, 
"  your  friend's  ransom  should  fail  to  be  sent — it 
might  be  possible  to  try  how  he  would  bear  himself 
under  such  circumstances.  Although  he  is  of  an 
obdurate  nature,  we  might  succeed  in  convincing 
him." 

Now  it  must  be  recorded  that  this  conversation 
haunted  Essenden  unpleasantly.  The  evil  look  Don 
Q.  reserved  for  Rimbolt,  and  that  personage's  con- 
ceit, brought  very  ominous  factors  into  the  situation. 


DON  Q.  AND  A     CRICKETER  53 

Moreover,  Essenden  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the 
suppressed  smirk  that  always  sat  on  the  features  of 
Rimbolt  whenever  the  subject  of  ransom  was  men- 
tioned between  them.  The  more  he  thought  of  it 
the  less  did  Essenden  like  the  outlook.  While  he 
waited  for  the  conclusion  of  the  matter,  he  found 
himself  day  by  day  comparing  the  two  men  into 
whose  undiluted  company  Fate  had  flung  him,  and, 
strange  to  relate,  the  comparison  usually  resulted 
in  favour  of  the  brigand.  For,  while  Don  Q. 
marched  gallantly  along  the  high  road  of  life,  Rim- 
bolt halted  in  the  by-ways,  and  carped  unendingly 
at  the  shoulder-galls  of  daily  burdens,  which,  in 
his  case,  were  many  of  them  self-inflicted.  But  Don 
Q.,  with  all  his  faults,  had  the  power  of  drawing 
forth  respect  from  those  with  whom  he  came  into 
familiar  contact;  he  never  rubbed  bare  as  a  meaner 
nature  must;  no  man  ever  lost  less  of  the  heroic 
quality  by  reason  of  propinquity. 

Then,  on  a  hot  and  sullen  afternoon,  the  end  came. 
They  were  seated  with  Don  Q.  on  the  terrace,  a 
sun  like  a  blood-orange  hung  above  the  misty  air, 
the  fire  beside  them  burnt  red  and  low.  Their 
desultory  talk  had  for  a  long  half-hour  waned  to 
silence,  when  Rimbolt  pulled  himself  up  in  the  chair 
and  spoke. 

"  Is  it  not  about  time  that  rufiian,  Robledo,  re- 
turned ?  "  he  said,  addressing  Don  Q.  "  We  should 
have  had  an  answer  from  Ingram  days  ago." 

"  It  is  true."     Don  Q.  lit  a  cigarette  from  the 


54  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

butt  of  the  last.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  senor,  I  shall 
be  enabled  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  convert- 
ing me  to  one  of  your  opinions  by  practical  proof." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  have  been  amusing  myself  by  thinking  that 
if  you  v^ere  disappointed  in  the  arrival  of  your 
ransom,  I  might  permit  you  to  carry  out  your  own 
suggestion,  and  prove  to  me  that  an  English  sports- 
man can  wield  the  bat  with  as  much  coolness  and 
success  when  his — what  do  you  call  it? — wicket? — 
ah,  yes — when  his  wicket  is  a  keg  of  powder  with  a 
light  balanced  over  it,  instead  of  the  ordinary  mul- 
tiplicity of  little  sticks.  In  very  many  of  our  con- 
versations you  have  upheld  this  view — " 

"  Nonsense !  You  would  not  dare — "  Rimbolt 
caught  himself   up. 

"  If  your  ransom  did  not  come,  I  should  be 
entitled  by  the  terms  of  our  bargain  to  give  you 
over  to  my  men,  who,  believe  me,  are  very  thorough 
in  their  treatment  of  a  captive  in  so  disagreeable  a 
position,"  Don  Q.'s  cold,  even  voice  went  on;  "but 
with  my  usual  inclination  to  mercy,  I  have  decided, 
should  occasion  arise,  to  allow  you  to  prove  your 
case  in  the  manner  I  have  mentioned,  and  also,  if 
successful,  to  preserve  your  life."  With  that  he 
left  them. 

Rimbolt  sat  still  for  a  few  moments,  then  rose 
abruptly,  and  with  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets 
walked  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  terrace,  where 
he  stood  looking  out  blankly  into  the  mountain  haze. 


DON  Q.  AND  A     CRICKETER         55 

A  touch  upon  Essenden's  shoulder  roused  him. 
He  looked  up.    Don  Q.  was  at  his  side. 

^'Permit  me,  sefior,  to  inform  you  that  Robledo 
has  arrived  with  the  reply  from  seiior  Ingram." 
The  brigand's  bearing  was  altered ;  he  was  no  longer 
the  solicitous  host,  but  the  bleak  captor  of  their  first 
interview.  Essenden  unconsciously  pressed  his  feet 
hard  into  the  ground.  The  situation  had  become 
suddenly  intense.  "Is  that  his  letter?"  he  said, 
putting  out  his  hand. 

Without  looking  at  the  address  he  tore  the  enve- 
lope open,  while  Don  Q.  walked  round  to  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  fire.  He  read  the  letter  once,  then 
twice  very  carefully.  The  words  confused  him,  their 
unexpectedness  struck  him  like  a  blow.  This,  then, 
was  Rimbolt's  foolish  secret.  He  had  applied  for 
a  ransom  for  Essenden  only;  for  himself  he  had 
relied  on  the  weight  of  his  political  importance,  and 
the  pressure  Lord  Flitterby  would  bring  to  bear  on 
the  Spanish  Government.  The  ineptitude  that 
prompted  the  act,  the  shallow  judgment  that  con- 
tinued to  approve  it  in  the  face  of  a  growing  knowl- 
edge of  Don  Q.,  fixed  for  ever  his  verdict  on  Rim- 
bolt.  We  must  give  to  Essenden  the  credit  due  to 
so  capable  a  man  as,  in  the  next  few  seconds,  he 
chose  his  course  of  action. 

There  was  much  of  scorn  in  his  mental  attitude 
towards  Rimbolt,  something,  too,  of  resignation, 
much  of  the  humour  which  consists  in  laughing  at 
oneself.    Yet,  in  the  same  instant,  he  saw  his  way. 


56  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

That  test  of  cool-headedness — the  chance  of  life 
spoken  of  by  the  brigand — how  would  Rimbolt  carry 
it  through  ?  He  had  not  the  necessary  skill,  possibly 
not  the  nerve.  No,  Rimbolt  could  never  do  it! 
Essenden  dropped  the  letter  lightly  into  the  fire,  and 
watched  it  shrivel  as  his  fellow-prisoner  came  up. 

*'The  letter  has  come?"  he  asked,  **  and  the 
ransoms — " 

"  For  one  only,"  replied  Essenden. 

"  Which  ?  "  Rimbolt's  lips  grew  dry,  and  he  felt 
some  difficulty  in  saying  the  single  word. 

Essenden  took  his  eyes  from  the  charred  scrap  of 
paper,  solitary  evidence  of  the  truth.  "  I  never  did 
have  any  luck  myself,"  he  replied  with  a  laugh,  and 
turned  away. 


CHAPTER     VI 

HOW    DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    A    FAMOUS 

CRICKETER —  ( Continued ) 

So  it  was  done.  It  was  not  to  save  a  friend,  not 
altogether,  but  rather  as  a  sequence  to  his  own  man- 
hood that  Essenden  made  up  his  mind — as  some- 
thing due  to  his  own  honour,  to  that  alter  ego,  who 
in  such  crises  often  points  out  the  way  to  a  man, 
lest  haply  he  should  dash  his  self-respect  against  a 
stone. 

And  the  other,  for  whom  the  sacrifice  was  made, 
stood  gorgeously  unconscious  of  it.  After  that  one 
strained  moment  of  suspense,  he  fell  back  easily  into 
his  normal  conceit,  congenitally  sure  of  himself  and 
of  his  system  of  life,  blandly  superior  to  the  rest  of 
his  race. 

"  What  did  you  burn  the  letter  for  ?  "  he  asked 
sharply.  "  You  very  readily  lose  your  head,  Essen- 
den.    Tell  me  what  was  in  it  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  ?  "  answered  Essenden  from 
his  chair. 

Don  Q.  eyed  them  both  strangely;  then  at  last 
he  said  with  a  grave  dignity : 

"  I  cannot  express  how  greatly  I  regret  the  duty 
that  is  forced  upon  me,  senor  Essenden.  But  I  have 
lived  long  in  the  sierra,  and  I  conceive  myself  to  be 
in  the  position  of  a  man  whose  hold  on  fortune  and 

67 


58  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

on  life  takes  the  form  of  a  threat.  I  cannot  set  you 
at  liberty,  for  by  so  doing  I  should  ruin  my  credit 
in  the  plains.  I  may  never  forego  a  claim  I  have 
once  made,  unless  under  some  such  condition  of  trial 
or  ordeal  as  I  proposed  for  senor  Rimbolt.  The 
authorities  down  below  there  know  that  I  am  as 
good  as  my  word  at  all  times,  on  that  my  reputation 
depends,  and  also  the  safety  of  my  men.  I  cannot 
endanger  this,  even  for  you ;  but  if  you  are  willing 
to  undertake  the  ordeal  I  proposed  for  your  com- 
panion, I  now  make  you  the  same  offer." 

"And  I  accept  it,  senor,"  said  Essenden. 

The  sun  was  within  a  hand's  breadth  of  the  peaks 
when  the  preparations  were  complete,  and  Essenden 
with  Rimbolt  was  led  from  the  Boca  de  Lobo,  and 
over  a  high  knuckle  or  ridge,  from  where  they  could 
see  the  pink  mists  rolling  about  the  lower  escarp- 
ments of  the  mountains,  to  a  fairly  level  valley 
through  the  bottom  of  which  brawled  a  mountain 
torrent.  There  on  the  best  bit  of  ground  available, 
stood  the  open  keg  of  powder  with  an  unlit  rush- 
light set  on  a  thin  strip  of  wood  that  barely  stretched 
across  the  diameter  of  its  rim. 

A  bridle-path  ran  up  the  glen,  and  on  the  further 
hillside  most  of  the  bandits  stood  in  a  knot,  crowing 
and  gesticulating;  while  a  few  lower  down  were 
flinging  a  ball  from  one  to  another. 

"  Senor,  you  see  the  cross  by  the  track,"  began 
Don  Q.,  meeting  Essenden,  "  it  was  erected  to  our 
poor  Felipito,  whose  friends  were  naturally  anxious 


DON  Q.  AND  A     CRICKETER  59 

for  the  repose  of  his  soul.  Until  the  shadow  of  the 
peak  behind  me  touches  the  cross  you  will  endeavour 
to  save  yourself  by  repelling  the  ball  cast  at  the  rush- 
light by  these  men,"  he  pointed  at  the  group  on  the 
level.  "  I  grieve  that  the  bat  is  not  better-fashioned, 
but  we  have  done  all  in  our  power  to  make  it  a 
weapon  of  defence." 

So  armed  with  what  was  little  more  than  a  club, 
Essenden  moved  into  the  heart  of  this  nightmare 
game.  Conceive  his  position.  The  rushlight  flame, 
bleached  to  white  by  the  sun  glare,  flickered  not 
five  inches  above  the  powder  heaped  below;  the 
mountaineers  came  up  to  a  prescribed  line,  and  from 
there  hurled  the  ball  in  turn.  Never  while  he  lived 
did  he  forget  the  scent  that  lived  on  the  wind  which 
roved  through  the  valley.  The  concomitant  parts 
of  the  scene  were  etched  in  on  his  memory  then  and 
for  ever — a  drunken  bandit  lying  on  the  track  where 
he  had  fallen  on  his  way  to  the  spectacle,  the  sky 
flushed  as  in  a  picture,  the  soft  chill  of  early  evening, 
and  his  own  grotesque  employment  in  the  mountains. 

To  attempt  a  detailed  description  of  the  next 
quarter  of  an  hour  would  be  absurd.  Essenden  was 
at  once  mentally  submerged  in  the  conflict,  he  had 
no  eyes  but  for  the  rotation  of  figures  who  threw  the 
ball,  for  the  ball  itself  as  it  came  hurtling  towards 
him,  and  at  momentary  intervals  for  the  crooked 
cross  of  Felipito  shining  in  the  golden  light. 

Thus  through  the  blinding  mist  of  excitement  and 
effort  the  thin  wrangling  of  Rimbolt's  voice  upraised 


6o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

in  advice  vexed  him  dimly  as  a  sound  vexes  a 
dreamer. 

For  the  most  part  the  bandits  were  content  to 
throw  the  ball  full  pitch  at  their  mark,  knowing  that 
the  slightest  concussion  on  the  barrel  would  bring 
about  the  tragic  finale  they  desired.  As  the  minutes 
crept  by  they  broke  into  wondering  cries  as  Essen- 
den,  active  and  dexterous,  maintained  the  integrity 
of  his  defence.  The  chances  in  his  favour  were  small 
enough,  when  one  of  those  accidents  occurred  which 
seem  to  confirm  the  existence  of  some  active  malign 
principle. 

He  was  settling  to  his  task,  congratulating  him- 
self that  there  was  no  Jack  Hearne  among  the  rob- 
bers to  take  advantage  of  the  inequalities  of  the 
ground,  when  one  of  the  men,  a  knock-kneed  crea- 
ture, stumbled,  and  the  ball  flew  from  his  hand.  It 
struck  a  stone,  ricochetted  a  yard  from  its  course  and 
missed  the  rushlight  by  a  hair's  breadth.  Loud 
applause  greeted  this  feat,  and  all  tried  to  adopt  the 
new  style. 

At  once  the  difficulties  of  Essenden's  posi- 
tion become  increased  fivefold.  The  space  in  front 
of  him  was  knobbed  with  roots  and  rocks,  and 
the  mountaineers,  though  ignorant  of  the  gentle  art 
of  bowling,  could  throw  with  both  force  and  effect. 
Besides,  the  most  exigent  of  modern  bowlers  would 
not  have  desired  a  wider  wicket.  It  was  soon  plain 
to  Essenden  that  the  completion  of  his  task  ap- 
proached the  improbable.  Hitherto  he  had  attempted 


DON  Q.  AND  A  CRICKETER  6i 

no  risk,  but  now,  abandoning  caution,  he  tried  to 
gain  time  by  harder  hitting. 

Presently  a  ball  rose  high.  He  swung  up  his 
club,  and  struck  at  it  with  all  his  force.  It  flew 
soaring  into  the  air,  fell  from  a  great  height  upon  a 
rock,  received  new  life  from  the  impact,  and  went 
bounding  down  the  slope.  Don  Q.  clapped  his  hands 
in  approbation. 

The  men  leaped  after  the  ball  like  a  pack  of 
hounds.  One  outran  the  rest,  he  was  not  five  yards 
behind  it  as  it  bounced  more  slowly  and  slowly  to- 
wards the  hollow  of  the  river-bed.  Then  came  a 
cry:  "El  rio!  El  rio!"  and  they  paused  agape. 
The  ball  bobbed  for  a  moment  or  two  on  the  swirl 
of  the  current,  and  was  swept  out  of  sight. 

Essenden  looked  at  the  shadow  of  the  peak,  its 
black  head  had  not  yet  touched  the  broken  foot  of 
Felipito's  cross.  Then  he  turned  to  Don  Q.  and  said 
slowly :  "  Lost  ball,  seiior.  I  think  I  must  claim  the 
game." 

Don  Q.'s  good-bye  brought,  in  different  ways, 
a  surprise  to  both  his  captives.  He  shook  Essenden 
warmly  by  the  hand.  "Adios,  Don  Double  E.  Pray 
accept  my  felicitations.  That  quickly-burnt  letter 
did  not  deceive  me.  You  are  a  gallant  fellow." 
Then,  turning  to  Rimbolt,  he  added :  "As  for  you, 
senor,  whose  folly  brought  about  the  danger,  let  me 
tell  you  a  piece  of  news.  It  was  your  ransom  which 
failed  to  be  sent,  and  but  for  your  friend,  who  imper- 


62  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

illed  his  life  for  your  sake,  you  must  have  died,  for 
you  are  incapable  of  such  hardihood  as  he  has  shown. 
You  owe  him  not  a  mere  £2000 — ^you  owe  him  the 
price  a  man  pays  for  the  boon  of  existence.  You 
look  amazed  that,  knowing  this,  I  should  have 
allowed  Senor  Essenden  to  take  your  place.  You 
could  never  comprehend  my  reason,  yet  I  will  give 
it  to  you.  Noble  deeds  are  rare.  When  one  beholds 
such  a  deed  planned,  one  stands  aside  in  reverence, 
for  who  would  dare  to  baffle  its  fulfilment  ?  " 

Robledo  led  the  two  Englishmen  to  the  foothills, 
and  long  after  he  left  them  the  thin  golden  air  of 
morning  brought  him  the  echoes  of  Rimbolt's  high 
note. 

"  Do  have  some  consideration  for  others,  Essen- 
den," he  was  saying.  "As  it  has  turned  out,  you 
got  off  cheaply.  Look  at  me !  This  horrible  affair 
is  going  to  cost  me  £2000." 


CHAPTER     VII 

HOW  DON  Q.  DEALT  WITH  A  THIEF 

One  of  the  most  curious  episodes  in  the  career  of 
Don  Q.  was  that  of  his  dealings  with  Fenders 
Coppledown.  It  claims  narration  for  three  reasons. 
In  the  first  place  the  facts  are  curious,  in  the  second 
they  throw  a  vivid  light  upon  the  character  of  Don 
Q.,  in  the  third  the  results  which  sprang  from  them 
were  widespread,  and  formed  a  sequel  to  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  our  English  ccmses  celebre. 

Many  of  our  readers  will  remember,  even  in  these 
days  of  a  plethora  of  press  news,  the  name  and 
notoriety  of  Fenders  Coppledown,  erstwhile  director 
and  salaried  manager  of  the  East  End  Savings' 
Bank,  and  the  associated  Fence  for  the  Million 
societies.  They  will  remember  also  the  flaring  post- 
ers, delineating  a  farthing  changing  by  a  gradation 
of  illuminating  shades  into  a  sovereign,  which  at  one 
time  decorated  the  hoardings  and  high  places  of 
London.  All  these  devices  sprang  from  the  brain 
of  Fenders  Coppledown. 

Nor  can  many  people  have  forgotten  the  sem- 
blance of  the  man  himself,  his  bulk,  his  clean-shaven, 
violent  face,  pouched  eyes,  and  solid  poses.  It  was 
possibly  this  hint  of  the  ungovernable  in  his  aspect 
which  so  much  endeared  him  to  timid  investors. 
For  at  one  period  he  enjoyed  an  immense  popular- 

68 


64  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ity.  Up  to  the  moment  of  his  disappearance  not 
a  breath  had  sullied  the  mirror  of  his  solvency  or 
of  his  character. 

Then  one  morning  London  woke  to  find  him  gone, 
his  business  hideously  in  tatters,  his  intrusted  mil- 
lions vanished.  Nor  will  any  who  saw  them  forget 
the  crowd  that  swayed  and  fought  with  a  fury 
pitiful  in  its  senselessness  round  his  offices  in  Minc- 
ing Lane,  hoping  to  salve  some  portions  of  their 
savings,  or,  as  it  was  in  many  cases,  entire  means  of 
support,  from  the  engulfing  sea. 

Meantime,  in  spite  of  the  numerous  expedients 
now  in  the  hands  of  civilisation  which  tend  to 
insure  the  capture  of  a  fugitive  from  justice.  Fen- 
ders Coppledown  made  his  escape.  Behind  him 
newspapers  raised  such  a  hue  and  cry  that  it  seemed 
to  echo  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  English-speak- 
ing world.  Men  discussed  him  equally  by  Alaskan 
camp-fires  and  in  Thibetan  rest-houses.  The  police 
"  displayed  activity,"  "  discovered  clues,"  were  said 
to  be  "  determined  to  run  the  scoundrel  to  earth." 
But  nothing  came  of  all  this  reverberation  of  words. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Punch,  whose  arrows  shot  at  a  venture 
so  often  hit  the  mark,  most  nearly  approached  the 
truth  in  his  famous  cartoon,  where  a  wolf,  furnished 
with  the  features  of  Coppledown,  was  depicted  nos- 
ing the  trail  of  his.  pursuers  before  vanishing  into 
the  safety  of  a  snowy  steppe. 

Prolonged  inquiries  followed.  An  extraordinary 
amount  of  capital,  mostly  composed  of  innumerable 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  65 

small  deposits,  had  been  placed  in  the  care  of  the 
"  Poor  man's  Friend/'  but  the  bulk  of  it  was  gone, 
and  could  no  more  be  traced  than  that  personage 
himself.  Many  of  those  he  left  destitute  must  have 
cursed  him  when  they  realised  that  Coppledown  not 
only  was  a  rascal  who  had  accepted  payments  up 
to  the  very  eve  of  his  failure,  but  that  he  was  also 
one  of  the  most  successful  thieves  of  modern 
times. 

The  last  facts  known  as  to  his  movements  were 
as  follows :  At  about  seven  o'clock  of  a  spring  even- 
ing the  great  financier  left  his  office  and  returned 
home  to  dress  for  dinner  before  going  to  entertain 
a  large  party  at  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
restaurants  in.  London.  Shortly  after  eleven  o'clock 
he  bade  his  friends  goodnight,  and  was  seen  into 
a  hansom  by  a  commissionaire  at  the  door.  From 
that  moment  he  had  disappeared,  and  this  was  the 
more  unaccountable  since  his  face  and  his  unusual 
girth  were  familiar  to  the  man  in  the  street.  Up 
to  the  present  hour  no  human  being  knows  by  what 
subterfuges  Fenders  Coppledown  managed  to  out- 
wit the  police  during  the  first  two  weeks  of  his 
flight. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  reached  Portugal,  and 
for  a  space  enjoyed  Cintra.  There  some  hint  of 
danger  must  have  come  to  him,  for  afterwards 
Setubal  knew  him,  then  Evora.  Turning  south,  he 
moved  from  Tavira  to  Huelva,  by  boat  he  arrived  at 
San  Lucar.  After  a  hurried  flight  to  Malaga,  he 
6 


66  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

started  for  Almeria,  but  was  never  known  to  have 
arrived  there. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  finding  the  margin  of  escape 
growing  less,  he  dropped  away  from  the  main  chan- 
nels of  communication.  He  bought  a  stout  mule, 
and  set  his  face  towards  the  little-populated  sierra, 
where  he  hoped  to  lose  himself  for  a  while  until  the 
storm  and  clamour  of  the  pursuit  should  have  died 
down. 

He  crossed  stretches  of  heath  and  of  palmetto, 
he  plunged  into  the  forests,  he  lodged  in  solitary 
huts  among  the  foothills,  avoiding  the  clinging  vil- 
lages with  their  orchards  of  grey  olive-trees,  and  so 
gradually  worked  his  way  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  sierra. 

But  a  very  few  days  brought  him  to  a  deadlock 
of  disappointment.  The  food  he  had  carried  with 
him  was  gone,  and  to  obtain  any  among  the  poor 
and  scattered  folk  of  that  region  seemed  next  to 
impossible.  He  was,  truth  to  tell,  at  his  wits'  end ; 
the  horror  of  a  long  imprisonment  loomed  close 
before  him,  and  he  wanted,  oh,  far  more,  he  literally 
hoarded  every  hour  left  to  him  of  life  in  which 
to  enjoy  in  his  own  way  the  wealth  which  he  had 
stolen ! 

So,  on  a  grey  afternoon,  he  rode  and  brooded 
along  a  steep  mountain-path  when  he  fell  in  with 
a  couple  of  Guardias  Civiles. 

The  men  drew  up.  "  You  will  do  well  to  turn 
back,  scfior;  these  roads  are  not  safe.    There  are 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  67 

many  perils  up  above  there,"  said  the  spokesman  of 
the  two. 

Coppledown  raised  his  heavy  face,  stubbled  with 
a  growth  of  beard,  and  laughed.  He  was  amused 
that  the  law  should  be  upon  his  side.  "  What 
perils  ?  "  he  asked  with  laconic  bad-temper. 

"  Have  you  not  heard  of  the  brigand,  Don  Q.  ? 
He  has  returned." 

Coppledown  scowled  and  considered.  A  sudden 
wild  notion  took  possession  of  him.  "  I  have  busi- 
ness of  my  own  in  these  parts,"  he  replied.  "  He 
would  not  dare  to  molest  me." 

"  The  devil  himself  can  only  guess  what  he  would 
dare !  "  exclaimed  the  patrol.  "  If  he  should  catch 
you,  he  would  demand  a  long  ransom,  or  he  might 
kill  you.  All  who  fear  the  law  take  to  the  hills.  It 
would  be  wiser,  seiior,  to  return  with  us  to  the  lower 
road.    We  could  guide  you  to  an  inn." 

*'  Perhaps  when  you  learn  that  I  have  no  money 
to  reward  you,  you  will  leave  me  in  peace,"  shouted 
Coppledown,  every  line  of  his  massive  face  and 
figure  charged  with  a  sudden  brutal  resentment. 

The  Spaniard  sat  still  more  erect  in  his  saddle: 
"  When  the  caballero  has  been  longer  in  my  coun- 
try, he  will  learn  that  the  Civil  Guard  do  not 
accept  money  for  any  services  they  may  have  the 
good  fortune  to  render  to  strangers.  Good-night, 
senor."  With  that  he  and  his  comrade  rode  away, 
leaving  Coppledown  frowning  beside  the  track. 

He  remained  as  they  left  him,  tossed  in  a  tumult 


66  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

of  thought.  When  a  few  minutes  had  elapsed,  he 
turned  after  the  men,  but  halted  at  the  comer  round 
which  they  had  disappeared;  from  there  he  could 
see  them  riding  one  behind  the  other  at  a  good  pace 
down-hill. 

Then  he  drew  back  to  review  his  position.  A 
cold  evening  was  settling  down  on  the  sierra.  The 
dark  scrap  of  rock  above  his  head  was  rendered  yet 
more  forbidding  by  the  east  wind  that  whistled  over 
it.  The  words  of  the  Civil  Guard  reiterated  them- 
selves in  his  brain :  "All  who  fear  the  law  take  to 
the  hills ;"  and  the  quality  of  imagination,  which  had 
so  often  stood  his  friend  during  his  career,  came  to 
his  aid.  Suppose  he  braved  the  higher  road.  Sup- 
pose he  were  to  be  taken  prisoner  by  these  brigands. 
Why,  here  was  the  very  hole  in  the  net  for  which 
he  had  been  seeking!  He  pictured  the  riding  up- 
wards, his  capture,  and  the  meeting  with  Don  Q. 

Such  a  man  would  do  anything  for  £5000 !  And 
what  was  £5000  to  Fenders  Coppledown,  he  who 
owned  more  than  a  million !  He  would  buy  a  death 
certificate,  so  to  speak,  from  Don  Q.  He  fancied 
the  news  reaching  England — 

" DEATH  OF  FENDERS 
COFFLEDOWN 

"Murdered  by  Bandits  in  the  Spanish 
Mountains  " 

He  foreread  the  press  comments  on  his  fate. 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  69 

"  Nemesis  " — they  would  say,  "  Dogged  to  his  death 
by  the  slow  foot  of  retribution."  Perhaps  finally, 
"  May  his  soul  rest  in  peace ;  he  did  not  live  long 
to  enjoy  his  ill-gotten  wealth.*'  Yes,  they  would 
even  pity  him,  while  he — he  laughed  aloud — he 
would  stay  a  while  with  these  robbers  in  the  sierra 
till  the  aflfair  was  somewhat  forgotten,  and  then, 
reborn  with  a  new  name,  descend  once  more  into 
the  lower  world,  take  ship  for  the  Spanish  Indies, 
and — and — 

An  angry  spatter  of  rain  striking  upon  his  face 
brought  him  back  to  the  present  moment.  He 
wrenched  the  mule's  head  round,  his  mind  was 
made  up.  Behind  were  the  pursuers,  before  him 
risk,  but  also,  as  he  believed,  an  ultimate  safety.  Far 
away  to  the  right  lay  the  lazy  sea  he  would  one 
day  cross  again ;  to  the  left  the  higher  sierra,  rutted 
with  their  dark  gorges,  towered  tumultuously  into 
the  sky.  A  cutting  breeze  met  him.  He  shivered,  it 
may  be  his  heart  doubted,  but  he  rode  on  by  moulder- 
ing shrines  and  crosses,  filled  with  a  fierce  resolution 
to  succeed.  Only  beast  and  bird  made  their  dwelling 
in  those  waste  places,  and  still  the  sterile  bridle 
path  ahead  twisted  away  dimly  into  the  unknown. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

HOW    DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    A    THIEF (cOfltinued) 

"  The  pleasure  is  the  keener  because  entirely 
unlocked  for,  senor,"  said  Don  Q.  "A  visitor  rarely 
comes  to  us  of  his  own  accord." 

Coppledown,  stretched  in  a  deep  chair,  with  a 
flagon  of  wine  at  his  elbow,  eyed  the  brigand  ask- 
ance. He  had  not  failed  to  notice  the  manner  in 
which  the  other's  sombrero  swept  its  bow  of  wel- 
come. He  believed  in  judging  other  men's  motives 
and  actions  by  his  own;  he  felt  certain  it  was  the 
way  by  which  to  reach  the  most  correct  conclusions. 
In  Don  Q.'s  case,  however,  he  was  over-hasty, 
for  he  indexed  him  by  his  calling — a  vital  mistake. 

"  Of  my  own  accord  ?  "  A  smile  crossed  his  large 
fleshy  face. 

The  brigand  with  chill  politeness  trusted  his  men 
had  not  used  unnecessary  violence. 

"  If  to  be  dragged  from  the  saddle  in  the  bight 
of  a  rope  constitutes  your  idea  of  no  unnecessary 
violence,"  replied  the  other. 

"  I  apologise  for  their  zeal,  senor.  But  what 
would  you?  You  do  not  carry  the  face  of  a  man 
who  readily  submits." 

"  You  are  right.  As  I  said  before,  if  I  had 
not  wished  to  come  I  should  not  be  here." 

Don  Q.  reseated  himself,  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
70 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  71 

remarked :  "  This  grows  quite  interesting.  Pray, 
proceed,  sefior." 

"  I  am  half  sorry  I  did  not  shoot  some  of  your 
men  last  night,"  added  Coppledown,  suddenly  smart- 
ing at  the  remembrance. 

"And  why?    They  were  but  doing  their  duty." 

"  Doing  their  duty,"  echoed  the  other,  un- 
pleasantly. 

"  But  certainly — to  me,"  replied  Don  Q.,  gently; 
yet  a  look  shot  from  between  his  eyelids  was  not 
altogether  lost  upon  his  companion,  who  muttered 
some  sort  of  excuse,  which  Don  Q.  accepted  with 
dignity. 

"  This  Don  Q.  has  picked  up  good  manners  some- 
how— much  in  the  same  way  as  I  picked  them  up 
myself,  no  doubt,"  Coppledown  reflected;  he  was 
always  cynically  blunt  with  himself — one  reason 
of  his  success,  perhaps.  "  Look  here,  Don  Q.,  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  something  of  my  personal  history." 

"  Is  it  needful?"  a  little  deprecatingly. 

"Absolutely,  since  it  leads  me  up  to  the  busi- 
ness which  has  brought  me  here." 

Don  Q.  inclined  his  head. 

"  My  name  does  not  matter,"  resumed  the  other, 
"  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  I  was  the  son  of  wealthy 
parents,  and  while  at  Oxford — our  most  aristocratic 
university  in  England,  you  understand — I  became 
entangled  with  a  woman,  older  than  myself — of 
course,"  with  a  shrug  of  the  thick  shoulders.  "  She 
infatuated  me,  however,  and  the  upshot  was  I  mar- 


72  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ried  her.     There  existed  a  difference  of  rank  be- 
tween us — " 

"  Pardon  me,  sefior,"  the  urbane  voice  of  Don  Q. 
broke  in,  "  but  on  which  side  lay  the  advantage  of 
this  difference  of  rank  ?  " 

Coppledown  turned  his  prominent  stare  upon  his 
companion.  "  She  was  a  woman  of  the  people,  while 
I—" 

The  brigand  nodded  absently,  yet  Coppledown 
changed  the  words  on  his  lips.  "  She  has  made 
my  whole  life  an  inferno.  At  last  I  got  away; 
I  went  to  Chili,  where  I  spent  a  considerable  time." 

"Ah,  senor,  I  imagined  your  Spanish  was  not  of 
Oxford!" 

"  In  the  end  my  wife  discovered  me.  Such  people 
as  she  find  many  to  sympathise  with  them  in  Eng- 
land. I  tell  you  I  cannot  lead  that  life  again  I  But 
she  has  traced  me — she  is  hunting  me  down !  Curse 
them  all !  "  There  was  a  convincing  fury  about  the 
man,  for,  indeed,  as  he  spoke  his  imaginary  wife 
had  faded  into  the  very  real  ranks  of  his  pursuers, 
and  every  fibre  in  him  was  strung  to  outwit 
them.  "  You  alone,  senor,  in  all  the  world  can 
help  me." 

"  Pray  proceed." 

"  You  must  rid  me  of  this  incubus !  " 

A  very  dark  look  gathered  on  the  brigand's  peaked 
face.    "  Rid  you — what  is  it  that  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  world  will  soon  learn  that  I  am  your  cap- 
tive.   All  that  I  ask  you  to  do  is  to  send  evidence 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  73 

down  to  the  plains  of  my  death.  They  will  not 
doubt  but  that  it  is  true.    What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  They  will  certainly  not  doubt  but  that  it  is  true," 
repeated  Don  Q.,  grimly. 

Coppledown  twisted  his  bulky  body  round  with  a 
jerk.    '*  I'll  pay  you  well  for  it,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  not  greatly  influenced  by  sordid  considera- 
tions," remarked  the  brigand,  "  and — " 

"  I  know  all  about  that."  Coppledown  put  on 
a  manner  that  had  done  him  service  in  the  heyday  of 
his  career  in  London.  "  We  are  men  of  the  world, 
and  we  know  the  greased  wheel  goes  faster  and 
squeaks  less.  I  am  not  a  rich  man — now,  but  I 
will  pay  you  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds  to  send  this 
message  to  the  plains  and  to  smuggle  me  out  of  the 
country.    Come,  let  us  clinch  the  bargain." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  senor,"  Don  Q.  raised  his  hand. 
"  You  will  pardon  me  when  I  say  that  I  have  my 
reputation  to  consider.  I  cannot  mix  myself  up 
with  any  questionable  affair." 

"  I  see  your  object,"  interrupted  the  other,  impa- 
tiently. "As  I  have  said,  I  am  no  longer  a  rich  man, 
but  this  matter  happens  to  be  of  the  first  importance 
to  me,  and  you  are  forcing  me  to  increase  my 
offer—" 

"  Not  at  all,  senor !  you  labour  under  terrible 
delusions.  Your  offers  are  nothing  to  me.  I  assess 
the  amount  of  ransom ;  my  captives  have  no  more  to 
do,  I  assure  you,  tlian  to  pay  it,"  the  brigand  said 
softly. 


74  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"Well,  £4000.  Curse  it,  man,  you  could  retire 
upon  that ! "  Coppledown  was  standing  now,  a 
formidable  bulk  alive  with  a  formidable  personality. 

Don  Q.  raised  his  eyes.  "  Be  silent !  for  this  is 
my  last  word,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
manner,  "  I  will  send  you  safely  to  the  coast,  and 
allow  the  authorities  to  make  their  own  conclusions 
as  to  your  fate  up  here  in  the  sierra,  and  for  this  you 
will  pay  me  £10,000.  But  since  I  am  not  in  the 
mountains  for  purposes  of  plunder,  if  it  should 
transpire  in  the  meantime  that  you  have  told  me  a 
false  history,  or  that  your  flight  has  a  less  innocent 
cause  than  you  have  led  me  to  suppose,  not  ten 
times  the  sum  I  have  named  would  induce  me  to 
move  in  the  matter." 

Fenders  Coppledown  made  a  violent  step  forward 
— ^what  he  would  have  done  cannot  be  guessed — ^but 
the  brigand  was  already  walking  away  into  the 
recesses  of  the  cave. 


CHAPTER     IX 

HOW   DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    A   THIEF — (conttfiued) 

An  interval  of  changeable  weather  followed  upon 
that  first  blue  day.  Rain  drummed  on  the  rocks  or 
the  sun  swam  from  a  mist-bath  into  mid-heaven. 
Within  the  cave  between  these  two  men,  so  strangely 
flung  together  by  destiny,  the  seeds  of  personality 
began  to  bear  fruit  upon  the  common  ground  of 
their  intercourse. 

All  day  long  Coppledown  would  lie  in  a  long 
chair  solacing  the  hours  with  tobacco  and  with 
dreams.  In  his  thoughts  of  the  tropic  land  of  his 
desire,  his  mind  dwelt  with  an  odd  persistency  on 
the  vivid-feathered  birds. 

The  man  was  a  voluptuary,  but  also  an  artist  in 
the  shades  of  living.  Lying  there,  heavy  in  much 
flesh,  he  toyed  with  the  promise  of  the  future; 
was  alternately  assailed  with  the  minutest  thorns  of 
doubt,  or  abandoned  himself  to  the  weaving  of  chains 
of  golden  web  from  the  material  of  a  ray  of  sunshine. 
In  that  great  body  beat  such  nerves  of  sensibility  as 
none  would  have  suspected.  Neither  the  artistic 
sense  nor  even  something  of  the  romanceful  out- 
look was  lacking  in  his  mental  furnishing.  Sen- 
sualist, positivist,  and  dreamer,  yet  he  was  through 
all  the  disciple  of  naked  expedience. 

So  Fenders  Coppledown  lived  and  grew  familiar 

76 


76  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

with  the  daily  iteration  of  life  among  the  mountains. 
His  eyes  saw  new  things.  The  sky  a  vault  to  hold 
the  winds  or  burnt  hot  and  blue  with  sunshine, 
swooping  birds  on  ragged  wings,  the  fires  and  the 
bandits  who  sprawled  near  them,  even  the  air  of 
tame  savagery  that  hung  about  the  glen — these 
things  painted  themselves  into  a  background  against 
which  his  thoughts  moved  in  panoramic  guise. 

Thus  the  drama  moved  to  its  completion,  while 
each  man  read  by  snatches  in  the  book  of  the 
other's  personality,  as  a  penniless  scholar  reads  in 
a  volume  he  cannot  buy  at  a  bookstall.  At  one  point 
of  their  interview  Coppledown  had  become  keenly 
alive  to  certain  ominous  possibilities  in  his  captor. 
Later  on  he  discovered,  or  fancied  he  discovered, 
signs  of  speciousness  in  his  host's  conversation, 
which,  indeed,  were  wholly  imaginary.  Thus  his 
early  impression  of  the  inexorable  in  Don  Q.  became 
somewhat  obscured. 

All  the  while  the  brigand  watched  Fenders  Copple- 
down from  the  intimate  point  of  vantage,  sitting 
always  opposite  at  the  same  table,  meditating  beside 
the  same  twilight  fire,  and  whereas  to  the  mental 
eye  of  Coppledown  there  took  shape  a  false  Don 
Q.,  each  hour  crystallised  to  the  more  alert  intelli- 
gence of  the  brigand  the  true  proportions  of  milk 
and  gall  that  went  to  make  up  his  captive's  rather 
monstrous  individuality. 

Among  the  various  species  of  human  beings  likely 
to  provoke  dislike  in  Don  Q.,  Coppledown  was  cal- 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  77 

culated  to  take  a  chief  place.  The  brigand  writes 
of  him :  **  This  man  possesses  all  the  qualities  which 
I  imagine  make  for  success  in  the  world  of  business, 
and  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  grosser  pleasures,  but 
I  look  in  vain  for  a  single  higher  trait  which  should 
endear  him  to  his  fellow-men.  His  mind  is  a 
gigantic  ledger  with  all  humanity  entered  on  the 
debit  side." 

So  life  droned  on,  Fenders  Coppledown  still 
drowsing  through  the  afternoons,  wallowing  in  an- 
ticipations, until  the  day  came  that  hurled  him  from 
that  Nirvana  into  the  exigencies  of  a  present 
struggle. 

The  development  could  not  have  been  avoided, 
for  who  can  guard  against  the  accidental  ?  Readers 
of  these  chronicles  may  remember  one  Caspar,  a 
knotty  man  of  evil  aspect,  but  an  excellent  brigand, 
and,  after  Robledo,  perhaps  of  all  Don  Q.'s  men 
the  best.  It  so  happened  that  this  Caspar,  at  the 
time  of  Don  Q.*s  return,  was  working  in  Barcelona 
as  a  cleaner  of  the  bullring.  As  soon,  however,  as 
the  news  came  to  him  and  the  rallying  call,  the  man 
threw  up  his  occupation,  which  indeed  seemed  to 
be  no  more  than  cigarette-smoking  on  weekdays  and 
scattering  sand  over  the  bloodstains  on  Sundays,  and 
started  for  the  Boca  de  Lobo,  taking  with  him  as 
many  of  the  most  recent  newspapers  as  he  could 
collect,  for  his  master's  reading. 

A  still  more  remote  cause  had  also  a  heavy  bear- 
ing on  Coppledown's  fortunes.    Away  in  England 


78  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

in  a  back  office  behind  Fleet  Street,  the  cosmopolitan 
gentleman,  sometime  tutor  to  the  heir  of  the  Duke  of 
Peckham,  and  presently  London  correspondent  of  a 
Spanish  paper,  by  over-indulgence  in  pleasure,  fell 
short  of  news,  and,  as  his  custom  was  under  such 
circumstances,  purchased  some  photographs,  the 
insertion  of  which  would  fill  up  the  column  of  his 
omissions.  Among  these  photographs  was  one  of 
Fenders  Coppledown.  In  due  time  the  paper  in 
Spain  reproduced  this  picture,  and  a  very  good 
likeness  was  the  result.  Below  it  were  set  out  some 
striking  finger-posts  as  to  the  career  of  the  original. 

Caspar,  being  aware  that  El  Mundo  was  a  journal 
held  in  esteem  by  his  lord  in  the  mountains,  bought 
copies  of  the  last  weeks'  issues,  and  started  to 
resume  his  old  life. 

At  the  nightfall  of  a  blusterous  day  of  drying  winds 
he  came  to  the  Boca  de  Lobo.  The  newspapers 
were  sent  up  to  the  cave,  where  the  brigand,  with 
his  usual  courtesy,  passed  the  more  recent  ones  over 
to  Coppledown,  while  he  opened  the  others. 

The  lamp  had  been  early  lighted,  and  the  two 
men  were  seated  near  the  fire,  a  table  with  the  lamp 
between  them. 

Coppledown  looked  up  suddenly  as  if  some  touch 
on  his  nerves  had  startled  him.  Conceive  the  scene. 
Don  Q.  had  a  ten-days*  old  El  Mundo  open  before 
his  face,  and  he  appeared  to  be  reading  with  interest. 
On  the  next  page,  which  for  the  moment  was  turned 
back,    Coppledown    saw,    swimming   in    the   light 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  79 

beneath  the  lampshade,  his  own  likeness.  So  clear 
was  it  that  he  discerned  a  dark  line  across  it  where 
some  graving  tool  had  scored  the  block. 

Coppledown  gazed  for  an  instant  at  the  bald  head 
above  the  top  of  the  newspaper.  He  had  but  a 
moment  in  which  to  act.  Long  ago  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  kind  of  man  with  whom  he 
would  have  to  deal  should  events  bring  him  into 
conflict  with  his  captor.  Here  was  the  event  come. 
For  he  realised  that  if  ever  the  eyes  of  Don  Q.  rested 
upon  the  portrait  reproduced  from  the  defective 
block,  it  was  likely,  and  more  than  likely,  that  a  new 
cross  would  front  no  distant  morning  in  the  gorges. 

After  the  manner  of  his  race,  Fenders  Coppledown 
grew  suddenly  cool  and  his  muscles  tightened.  Lift- 
ing his  heavy  foot,  he  kicked  over  the  table  with  the 
lamp  upon  it.  His  objective  was,  of  course,  the 
paper.  Don  Q.  moved  sharply  back  at  the  fall.  The 
lamp  shot  beyond  him,  smashed  upon  the  floor,  and 
went  out.  At  the  same  moment  Coppledown  leaped 
across  the  overturned  table,  and  tore  the  paper  from 
the  brigand's  hands. 

"  Take  care !  "  he  shouted  stridently,  crushing 
up  the  sheet,  and  thrusting  it  into  the  wood  fire. 

It  flared,  the  folds  reopening  slowly  under  the 
action  of  the  flames.  He  felt  rather  than  saw  a 
quick  movement  on  the  part  of  Don  Q.  For  what 
was  that  clearly  picked  out  in  the  centre  of  the  circle 
of  fire?  A  face  framed  in  ripples  of  red  smoulder 
with  a  dark  graving  line  across  the  cheek.    Of  the 


8o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

four  portraits  on  the  sheet  only  his  own  appeared,  as 
if  the  finger  of  Fate,  which  he  so  often  railed  at,  had 
written  his  accusation  in  letters  of  fire. 

He  turned  to  Don  Q.  Their  glances  encountered, 
and  at  that  moment  Coppledown,  using  his  immense 
strength,  tore  a  leg  from  the  table  and  rushed  like 
a  baresark  upon  the  brigand. 

But  a  life  of  alarms,  and  his  many  necessities, 
had  equipped  Don  Q.  with  great  qualities  of  per- 
sonal warfare.  Coppledown  was  quick  in  his  rush, 
but  Don  Q.  was  quicker  still.  Springing  to  one 
side,  he  flung  his  cloak  round  his  antagonist's  feet 
and  jerked  it  sharply.  The  huge  man  fell  forward 
like  a  mast. 

Very  slowly  Fenders  Coppledown  gathered  his 
mental  forces  together,  consolidating  his  will,  his 
inherent  strength  of  purpose,  and  that  ruthless  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  to  which  he  owed  so  many 
of  his  former  victories  over  men.  Fhysically  he  was 
helpless,  bound  hand  and  foot,  while  over  against 
him  brooded  the  silent,  portentous  figure  of 
Don  Q. 

The  brigand  had  spent  that  last  hour  in  reading 
and  considering  all  that  El  Mundo  had,  in  later 
editions,  told  its  readers  of  the  swindle  of  the  East 
End  Savings'  Bank  and  Fence  for  the  Million 
Societies,  and  of  their  colossal  promoter. 

"  So  you  are  Fenders  Coppledown  ?  "  he  said  at 
length ;  "  and  you  lied  to  me." 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  8i 

"  No.  To  be  quite  correct,  I  bluffed.  I  played 
a  g^me — to  win." 

"  I  was  about  to  say  I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
lied."  Don  Q.  brushed  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
the  papers  on  his  knee. 

"All  is  fair  in  business." 

"  What  a  detestable  creed !  Yet  it  was  that  upon 
which  you  habitually  acted.  You  lied  to  me  because 
you  were  assured  that  I  could  not  give  my  protection 
to  one  whose  career  had  been  so  infamous." 

"  I  do  not  follow  you."  Coppledown  forced  him- 
self to  speak  quietly.  "  In  conducting  my  business, 
I  was  the  ordinary  business  man  using  the  ordinary 
business  methods." 

"  No,  senor ;  for  I,  Don  Q.,  am  likewise  a  business 
man  in  one  aspect  of  my  life." 

"And  what  of  the  infamy  of  your  career?  "  roared 
Coppledown. 

"  My  worst  enemies  will  tell  that  no  poor  man  or 
woman,  no  widow  or  orphan,  no  helpless  cripple, 
or  aged  people  have  ever  been  a  peseta  the  worse  for 
me.  No,  these  unhappy  folk  ask  for  justice,  charity, 
and  at  my  hands  have  never  yet  been  refused.  But 
what  do  I  read  here  ?  You  indulged  your  gross  body 
on  the  savings  of  the  thrifty  and  the  already  indi- 
gent; you  swallowed  the  livelihood  of  those  who 
dwelt  always  on  the  borderland  of  starvation.  Why 
do  I  waste  my  words?  You  have  doubtless  read  of 
that  black  procession  of  suicides  which  followed  upon 
your  disappearance.  I  have  but  one  question  to  ask^ 
6 


82  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

you — ^what  have  you  done  with  the  money  of  which 
you  deprived  those  wretched  ones?  " 

Fenders  Coppledown's  big  face  lowered  at  him. 
"What  is  that  to  you?' 

"  We  shall  come  to  that  point  presently." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  it  now !  Your  demand  for 
a  ransom  is  about  to  grow  in  proportion  to  my 
alleged  wealth,"  sneered  Coppledown  furiously. 

To  his  surprise  the  brigand  replied  in  his  soft 
voice :  "  There  is  something  of  truth  in  your  guess. 
I  now  require  you  to  give  me  full  information  as 
to  where  that  million  and  a  quarter,  which  you  have 
stolen,  is  waiting  for  you  to  regain  it.  Next  I  shall 
endeavour  to  persuade  you  to  send  instructions  for 
the  repayment  out  of  that  fund  of  those  poor  cred- 
itors who  trusted  you.  When  this  is  fully  done, 
there  will  still  doubtless  be  a  remainder  upon  which 
you  can  continue  to  enjoy  some  moderate  pleasures 
of  life." 

Coppledown's  smile  was  evil.  "  Look  here,  Don 
Q.,  or  whatever  you  call  yourself,  in  this  affair  you 
have  shown  considerable  sagacity,  but  there  is  just 
one  factor  with  which  you  have  not  reckoned." 

"Which  is?" 

"  That  immutable  man  as  you  may  believe  your- 
self to  be,  you  have  not  realised  that  I  am  equally 
immutable.  Yes,"  he  went  on,  raising  his  voice,  "  in 
this  gross  body,  as  you  called  it,  you  will  find  a  stark 
man,  one  whom  you  cannot  compel !  Now  attend  to 
my  offer.    I  will  procure  for  you  £20,000  to  give  me 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  83 

my  liberty;  if  you  will  not  take  that,  you  shall  get 
nothing !  " 

"  I  fear  that  you  have  failed  to  understand  my 
words."  Don  Q.  moved  so  as  to  envisage  the  other 
man  more  directly. 

*'  Not  a  bit  of  it !  I  can  read  you  easily.  Like 
all  bargainers,  you  begin  by  asking  more,  far  more 
than  you  intend  to  close  for.  You  have  had  my  last 
word,  however."  The  tremendous  resistance  of  will 
in  the  man  seemed  almost  palpable. 

"  Sefior,  I  do  not  bargain.  As  I  have  said,  so  it 
shall  be,  no  more,  no  less !  " 

Coppledown's  under  lip  closed  in  viciously. 
"  Then  you  are  about  to  kill  me.  Well,  I  do  not 
fear  death." 

*'  Not  at  this  moment,"  put  in  the  brigand.  "  But 
we  have  a  proverb  in  my  language,  '  Never  say, 
This  bread  I  will  not  eat.'  " 

"You  think  to  force  me  by  torture?" 

"  No,"  came  the  unexpected  answer,  "  you  are 
merely  to  have  such  an  experience  as  you  have  pro- 
vided for  those  others — who  trusted  you." 

The  brigand  clapped  his  hands.  Robledo  entered 
the  cave.     "  The  barrel  is  prepared,  Robledo  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lord." 

"And  Caspar  has  safely  affixed  the  pulley  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lord." 

"Good !  Now  assist  this  senor  to  rise,  and  loosen 
the  ropes  for  walking.    Then  lead  him  to  the  tree." 

By  the   light   of   torches   a   procession   formed 


84  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

itself,  Coppledown  between  two  brigands  going  first, 
then  Don  Q.  alone,  after  him  a  mob  of  his  men 
moving  quietly,  but  hugely  entertained  at  the  pun- 
ishment in  store  for  the  fat  Englishman.  They 
halted  under  the  group  of  trees  at  the  head  of  the 
glen. 

Don  Q.  pointed  upwards  to  where  the  winds 
roared  among  the  branches,  and  Coppledown  saw 
dimly  that  a  barrel  had  been  slung  high  up  towards 
the  crest  of  the  highest  tree. 

"  You  are  about  to  be  placed  in  that  barrel,  Sefior 
Coppledown,  where  you  will  suffer  cold  and  hunger, 
discomfort  and  misery,  and  there  will  be  none  to 
help  you.  With  these  things  your  victims  in  Eng- 
land must  now  be  well  acquainted.  And  you  will 
remain  up  there  unless  your  heart  relents  towards 
them,"  said  Don  Q.  "  Caspar,  proceed  with  your 
work." 

With  some  difficulty  and  a  good  deal  of  laughter, 
Coppledown  was  fastened  into  the  barrel,  which  was 
hoisted  and  securely  lashed  into  position.  Then  a 
great  fire  was  kindled  at  a  short  distance,  round 
which  the  appointed  guard  lay  at  ease. 

And  so  that  dreadful  night  began.  The  tree 
rocked  and  groaned  under  its  unaccustomed  burden, 
and  as  the  hours  wore  away  the  gusts  of  wind  grew 
louder  and  stronger.  Demons  of  cold  and  cramp 
plucked  at  the  prisoner's  pampered  flesh,  and  he 
endured  attacks  of  giddiness  and  sickness  from  the 
violent  swaying  of  the  tree.    Above,  to  his  unsteady 


DON  Q.  AND  A  THIEF  85 

gaze,  the  stars  whirled  in  the  tree-tops;  below  the 
dizzy  earth  fell  away  in  the  gloom.  At  intervals 
he  could  see  the  men  sleeping  by  the  fire  wrapped 
in  their  warm  cloaks  under  the  lee  of  the  cliff, 
while  he  pictured  to  himself  with  a  shuddering 
horror  the  breaking  of  the  tree,  and — 

It  is  a  fact  that,  after  all,  pleasure  is  relative,  and 
long  before  the  small  hours  Coppledown  found  him- 
self longing  more  for  warmth  and  safe  footing — 
merely  those  elementary  comforts — than  ever  he 
had  longed  for  the  Spanish  Indies  and  the  paradise 
of  golden-plumaged  birds. 

Dawn  came  at  length  with  a  slant  of  rain,  blow- 
ing out  for  an  instant  the  dancing  stars.  Clad  in 
sober  black  and  grey,  with  no  hint  of  colour,  the 
cold  day  crept  across  the  peaks  like  a  wolf  drenched 
in  storms.  And  Fenders  Coppledown  watched  it 
come,  oh,  how  slowly.  For,  sick  and  cramped, 
hungry  and  shivering,  worn  out  with  the  wrenching 
battle  of  the  tree,  he  had  had  enough  of  Don  Q.'s 
discipline. 

But  had  a  similar  desperate  ruin  of  his  plans 
happened  to  him  in  London,  unquestionably  Fenders 
Coppledown  would  not  have  hesitated  to  kill  him- 
self at  the  dramatic  moment  rather  than  submit 
to  it,  for  there  he  would  have  cut  something  of  a 
figure  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  gained  some 
amount  of  sympathy.  But  here  he  only  made  a 
sorry  spectacle  for  a  score  or  two  of  grinning 
bandits — ^besides,  if  he  escaped,  life  might  hold  a 


86  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

good  deal  still  for  a  man  yet  on  the  sunny  side  of 
middle  age! 

He  shouted  to  the  robbers,  he  called  to  the  chang- 
ing guard  to  bring  Don  Q.,  but  they  paid  no  heed. 
And  it  was  not  till  the  heats  of  midday  were  pouring 
on  his  head,  and  his  sufferings  seemed  intolerable, 
that  Don  Q.  came  up  the  incline  and  stood  below  the 
tree,  while  Fenders  Coppledown  categorically  agreed 
to  his  proposals. 

Later  he  was  told  that  he  must  be  content  to 
remain  in  the  sierra  until  certain  friends  of  Don  Q.*s 
in  England,  "  of  indisputable  honour,  such  as  Sir 
Graham  Marks,  with  whom  it  may  be  you  are 
acquainted,"  should  be  able  to  send  assurance  that 
the  restored  money  had  been  punctiliously  applied  to 
its  assigned  purpose.  Throughout  the  arrangements 
Coppledown  kept  a  keen  eye  on  every  detail,  and  one 
unasked  question  burned  on  his  tongue.  At  last  a 
day  came  when  he  put  it  squarely  to  the  brigand. 

"  Your  men — and  you — where  do  you  come  in  ? 
How  do  you  profit?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  men,  sefior,  are  satisfied  with  the  £300  found 
upon  you  at  the  time  of  your  capture.  For  myself — 
I  am  glad  to  reflect  that  these  poor  clients  of  yours 
are  once  again  happy.  I  want  nothing  more,"  said 
Don  Q.,  adding  with  a  thin,  sardonic  smile :  "  You 
cannot  believe  that,  but  nevertheless  it  is  true." 

Fenders  Coppledown  made  no  reply,  but  perhaps 
not  the  least  queer  part  of  a  very  queer  episode 
was  that  he  did  believe  it. 


CHAPTER     X 

HOW    DON    Q.    HAD    NEED   OF   A    SURGEON 

The  winter  had  been  hard.  Don  Q.,  wearied  of 
the  inertia  of  existence,  and,  perhaps,  even  more  of 
the  persistent  thoughts  which  preyed  upon  him  dur- 
ing such  periods  of  inactivity,  resolved,  although  the 
season  was  full  early,  to  make  a  hunting  trip  after 
ibex,  the  more  particularly  as  news  had  been  brought 
to  him  of  an  old  ram  with  magnificent  horns  which 
had  been  seen  kneeling  on  the  edge  of  a  remote 
precipice,  as  if  keeping  watch  over  the  country 
below. 

The  brigand  set  out  with  four  of  his  following, 
only  to  be  met  on  the  higher  levels  by  heavy  snow- 
storms, which  succeeded  each  other  in  an  increas- 
ing rancour. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  the  exhausted 
mules  had  to  be  left  behind,  while  the  little  party 
pushed  forward  on  foot.  Next  morning  they  turned 
out  to  face  again  deep  drifts,  slippery  rocks,  ice-cold 
torrents,  and  it  was  during  this  period  of  physical 
stress  that  the  brigand  felt  the  first  warning  of  that 
disease  which  was  destined  to  levy  upon  his  delicate 
frame  so  terrible  a  tax  of  suffering. 

He  has  recorded  that  his  return  journey  to  the 
cave  seemed  a  long  dream  of  agony,  but  with  almost 
miraculous  self-control  he  impressed  his  men  with 

87 


88  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  idea  that  fatigue  accounted  entirely  for  his  con- 
dition. Several  days'  rest  and  the  warmth  of  his 
cave  gave  temporary  relief,  but  as  time  drew  on  the 
attacks  of  pain  grew  more  and  more  frequent  and 
intense.  **  To  be  overcome  by  a  malady  in  the  sierra, 
more  especially  for  a  master  of  wolves  such  as  I  am, 
is,  I  am  well  aware,  little  short  of  a  sentence  of 
death.  I  have  always  known  that  I  must  die  in  the 
mountains;  I  think  the  time  approaches."  So  he 
wrote. 

Yet  no  individual  of  his  band  suspected  the  trutn 
nor  imagined  that  anything  beyond  one  of  his  habit- 
ual fits  of  depression  ailed  their  lord.  His  meals 
were  brought  to  him  as  usual;  he  ate  little,  yet 
covered  the  fact  by  dropping  a  portion  of  food  into 
the  fire;  but  presently  came  a  time  when  he  would 
afterwards  lie  back  in  the  agony  induced  by  even  that 
slight  effort. 

He  was  far  from  medical  help,  but  by  degrees  his 
mind  turned  towards  the  white  city,  which  lies 
across  the  bay  from  Gibraltar,  where  could  be  found 
men  with  knowledge,  who  might  aid  him  to  fight 
this  new,  intangible  enemy.  After  some  reluctance 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  procure  from  one  of  them 
such  relief  as  was  possible.  To  carry  out  his  purpose 
Robledo  was  sent  down  to  the  plains.  He  started  in 
a  pink  evening  mist,  the  herald  of  summer,  while 
Don  Q.,  panting  on  his  couch,  battled  with  the  pain 
that  beset  him. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  sufferings  of 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  89 

the  brigand.  Through  every  hour  he  felt  disease 
mining  its  implacable  way  to  the  core  of  his  life. 
He  could  do  nothing — only  wait  and  endure;  he 
never  complained,  but  he  was  dipped  into  a  depth  of 
despondency,  and,  as  his  strength  served,  wrote  many 
letters  for  the  final  arrangement  of  his  affairs. 
"Day  by  day,"  we  read,  "I  grow  weaker,  the 
foundations  of  my  life  tremble.  I  will  not  deny  I 
have  dreamed  of  an  end  other  than  this.  More  than 
once  during  this  latter  time  I  have  been  tempted  to 
ask  my  revolver  to  do  me  a  last  service." 

Such,  then,  was  the  point  of  current  history  in  the 
Boca  de  Lobo  when  Robledo  passed  down  from  the 
thin  breath  of  the  sierra  into  the  warm  atmosphere 
of  the  plains.  His  errand  had  alarmed  him,  and 
while  he  travelled  his  mind,  working  anxiously  over 
the  past  weeks,  recognised  the  calamitous  fact  of 
Don  Q.'s  failing  health.  The  suspicion  drove  him 
on  at  top  speed,  for  from  this  man  at  least  Don  Q.  had 
gathered  a  full  tribute  of  devotion. 

The  instructions  of  the  young  bandit  were  simple. 
He  carried  a  note  to  the  leading  doctor  in  the  city. 
It  contained  a  courteous  request  for  a  visit  in  the 
sierra  on  an  errand  of  life  and  death.  It  went  on 
to  assure  security  and  safe  conduct,  and  ended  with 
a  magnificent  offer  as  touching  fees.  But  the  re- 
cipient of  the  letter  at  once  definitely  declined  to  run 
the  risk  of  the  undertaking.  Robledo  appealed  to 
the  doctor — through  an  intermediary,  for  the  moun- 
taineer does  not  easily  trust  the  city  dweller — declar- 


90  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ing  himself  to  be  an  unfailing  guide  with  a  good 
reputation,  and  vowing  that  no  harm,  but  much  in- 
crease of  wealth  would  result  from  the  little  journey. 
All  to  no  purpose,  and  Robledo,  heavy  with  despair, 
made  his  way  back  to  the  outskirts  of  the  city  to 
bid  his  wife  farewell  before  he  carried  the  news  of 
his  failure  upwards  to  the  sierra. 

Perhaps  some  who  have  read  the  former  chron- 
icles will  remember  that  Robledo's  wife,  Isabellilla, 
was  a  woman  of  resource.  It  is  here  enough  to  say 
that  within  half-an-hour  she  started  with  him  for 
the  foothills. 

There  were  few  people  in  England  at  that  period 
to  whom  the  name  of  Sir  William  Gasterton,  the 
famous  surgeon,  was  unfamiliar.  Those  who  did 
not  know  him  personally  probably  imagined  him  to 
be  a  man  on  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  grown  grey  in 
the  service  of  science  and  humanity,  but  in  reality  he 
was  scarcely  thirty-five,  and  had  been  early  forced 
into  prominence  by  the  sheer  force  of  his  genius. 
His  friends  described  him  as  of  an  original  though 
perhaps  eccentric  disposition;  his  enemies  spoke  of 
his  infernal  capacity  for  giving  and  taking  offence. 
At  any  rate,  both  friends  and  enemies  agreed  that 
for  his  heroic  pursuit  of  knowledge  he  deserved  not 
only  well  of  his  country,  but  of  the  whole  human 
race. 

About  the  period  of  this  story,  Sir  William  pro- 
posed to  take  a  holiday  in  Spain.  On  the  eve  of 
setting  out,  a  millionaire  patient  offered  him  a  fee 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  91 

of  ten  thousand  guineas  to  cross  the  Atlantic  to 
perform  an  operation. 

Whether,  as  is  possible,  something  in  the  wording 
of  the  letter  annoyed  him,  or  whether,  having  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  to  Spain  for  rest  and  change,  he 
would  be  denied  neither,  no  one  can  say.  But  he 
absolutely  refused,  and  May  found  him  in  Grenada, 
where  he  spent  more  time  in  examining  the  mineral 
springs  of  Lanjaron  than  in  exploring  the  Alhambra. 
Hearing  of  other  springs  in  Andalucia,  as  yet 
but  little  known,  he  visited  that  province,  and  by  a 
coincidence  had  an  interview  with  the  confrere  to 
whom  Don  Q.  had  that  very  day  sent  his  appeal  for 
aid  This  individual  told  Gasterton  the  story  of 
the  mysterious  letter,  adding  that  he  would  certainly 
not  accept  its  invitation. 

"  But  why  ?  "  inquired  Sir  William,  hotly. 

The  other  raised  his  eyebrows  and  laughed.  "  It 
comes  probably  from  the  brigand,  Don  Q.  Why 
should  I  adventure  my  life?  " 

"  The  question  to  me  is  rather — "  the  English 
doctor  pulled  himself  up  with  his  curious  air  of  self- 
repression,  and  turned  to  talk  of  certain  mineral 
waters,  which  he  had  been  told  were  within  a  day's 
ride  of  the  city. 

Gasterton  made  a  start  next  morning,  Robledo  and 
his  wife  followed  on  the  same  road  early  in  the 
afternoon. 

The  springs  were  situated  close  to  a  hamlet  of 
picturesque,   tumble-down  houses  that  clung  to  a 


92  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

precipitous  slope  of  the  lower  mountain  range.  Not 
the  least  wretched  of  the  hovels  was  the  inn,  where 
the  Englishman  left  his  valise,  and,  repelling  the 
pleasant  courtesy  of  the  patron,  went  off  at  once  to 
see  the  springs.  He  examined  the  small,  clear  pools 
with  their  sparkling  bubbles  ever  rising  and  breaking 
on  the  surface  of  the  water;  he  tasted  and  tested 
and  made  notes,  so  a  couple  of  hours  passed  quickly- 
enough,  and  he  was  still  engrossed  in  his  work  when 
a  soft  voice  startled  him. 

"  I  do  not  understand  Spanish,"  he  answered  with 
absent  brusqueness. 

But  the  voice  went  on,  shaken  with  tears. 
Gasterton  looked  round,  then,  in  spite  of  himself, 
looked  again,  for  the  speaker  was  a  most  beautiful 
woman.  She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  compre- 
hended that  she  was  imploring  his  help  to  save  the 
•life  of  one  she  loved.  After  a  moment's  hesitation, 
he  nodded,  and  in  a  second  a  young  mountaineer, 
handsome,  worn,  and  sad-eyed,  appeared,  leading 
a  shaggy  mule  by  a  nose-halter  or  rope.  Sir  William 
mounted  the  padded  cloth  that  served  for  saddle, 
and  the  three  set  their  faces  upwards. 

A  goatherd  in  passing  exchanged  a  word  or 
two  with  the  young  fellow  at  his  bridle-rein,  but 
Gasterton  only  remembered  this  later,  when,  night 
having  almost  fallen,  they  came  upon  an  encamp- 
ment of  wild-looking  men  seated  round  a  blazing 
fire  fed  with  pine. 

By  this  time,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  was  be- 


THIY    CAME    UPON    AN    ENCAMPMENT    OF    WILD-LOOKING    MEN    SEATED 
ROUND    A    BLAZING    FIRE. 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  93 

ginning  to  grow  uneasy  as  to  the  outcome  of  the 
mission  upon  which  he  had  unthinkingly  embarked, 
and,  whether  he  looked  back  to  the  gloom  of  the 
forest  from  which  they  were  emerging,  or  forward 
to  the  grey  desolation  of  brushwood  above,  he 
realised  that  he  was  in  a  position  more  than  likely 
to  turn  out  ill.  To  do  him  justice,  his  spirit  did 
not  quail,  not  even  when  his  refusal  to  proceed  was 
met  by  a  rush  of  the  red  and  yellow-capped  figures 
from  the  fire,  who  overpowered  him — not  without 
trouble — and  who  hurried  him  on  in  the  teeth  of  a 
biting  wind.  Darkness  fell,  but  the  party  carried 
torches,  which,  as  they  mounted  higher,  gave 
glimpses  of  the  bleached  branches  of  the  piornales, 
hovering  like  skeletons  on  the  edge  of  the  passing 
glow. 

During  the  tedious  hours  of  riding,  Gasterton 
may  have  pictured  to  himself  the  brigand  chief  as 
some  fierce,  heavy-handed  dweller  in  the  mountains ; 
but  he  found  instead  a  fragile,  cultured  gentleman, 
who  spoke  beautiful  Castilian,  and  over  whose  face, 
to  his  practised  eye,  the  rim  of  the  Great  Shadow 
already  rested. 


CHAPTER    XI 

HOW    DON    Q.    HAD    NEED    OF    A    SURGEON 

(continued) 

By  this  time  the  hot  convulsion  of  his  anger  at 
being  tricked  had  crystallised  into  strange  shapes 
of  resolve.  He  had  gathered  more  than  an  inkling 
of  Don  Q.'s  purpose,  having  knowledge  of  the  note 
to  the  Spanish  doctor  to  guide  him,  and  with  a  deep 
resentment  he  set  himself  to  see  the  matter  through. 

To  his  surprise  the  men  were  ordered  back  to 
the  valley,  while  he  was  left  alone  and  unbound 
in  the  warm  and  firelit  cave  where  the  brigand  lay 
on  a  rough  couch  made  soft  with  furs. 

"  Sefior,  you  know  who  I  am?  "  the  brigand  asked 
in  his  gentle  manner. 

"  I  understand  you  are  the  man  known  as  Don 
Q.,  a  brigand,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  I  also  know  you  by  report.  Although  I 
live  among  the  mountains  remote  from  the  world, 
some  echoes  of  that  which  is  great  and  famous  reach 
me.  Your  renown,  sefior,  has  penetrated  to  our 
valley."  He  paused  and  looked  expectantly  at  his 
companion. 

But  Sir  William  sat  in  silence,  the  strong,  self- 
imposed  silence  which  was  one  of  his  dominant 
characteristics.  He  was  a  man  temperamentally  out- 
side the  range  of  ordinary  small  courtesies ;  besides, 

94 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  95 

his  position  seemed  to  him  nothing  short  of 
intolerable. 

"  I  repeat,  senor,  that  your  name  is  well  known 
to  me,  and  I  have  largely  rewarded  the  man  and 
woman  who,  on  their  own  initiative,  secured  me 
the  advantage  of  your  presence  here." 

"  What  ?  You  encouraged  the  baseness  that 
could  betray  me  under  the  circumstances?  "  Gaster- 
ton's  eyes  blazed  contempt.  "  It  is,  however,  not 
astonishing !  " 

"  I  am  very  well  aware  that  it  was  the  noble 
instinct  of  the  healer  of  men  which  overcame  your 
natural  reluctance,  which  gave  you  courage  to  fol- 
low two  strangers  into  our  wild  sierra.  But  Rob- 
ledo  and  his  wife  did  not  deceive  you,  they  did  not 
allure  you  away  under  false  pretences,  for  I,  their 
master,  am  most  desperately  in  need  of  your  help." 

Gasterton's  compressed  lips  uttered  no  reply, 
though  bitterness  seemed  hovering  visibly  about 
them.  After  a  distinct  pause  he  spoke,  passing 
over  without  comment  the  last  speech  of  Don  Q. 

"  Let  us  limit  ourselves  to  the  only  subject  of 
discussion  possible  between  us.  What  is  to  be  the 
amount  of  my  ransom?  " 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  ask  any  sum  in  ransom." 

"What  then?" 

"A  service." 

Sir  William  knew  well  what  was  coming;  his 
ear  detected  the  increasing  weakness  in  the  brigand's 
voice,  for  this  interview  had  almost  absorbed  Don 


96  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Q.'s  strength,  but  he  nevertheless  intended  to  make 
the  asking  of  a  favour  as  hard  a  matter  as  he  could 
make  it.  His  face  grew  increasingly  repellent. 
"Ask  it." 

"  You  see  I  am  ill." 

"  You  wish  to  consult  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  your  other  patients  consult  you — for 
any  fee  you  think  proper.  I  am  a  rich  man,  and 
there  will  be  no  need  to  consider  economies." 

Gasterton  laughed  suddenly,  a  biting  laugh, 
plainer  in  its  meaning  than  words.  "As  far  as  an 
examination  is  concerned,  and  so  far  only,  I  place 
myself  at  your  service,"  he  said.  Then  with  the 
tender  and  skilful  hands  of  his  craft,  he  moved 
Don  Q.'s  couch  into  a  better  light  beside  the  opening 
of  the  cave,  and  helped  him  to  turn  and  shift  his 
position.  Patiently  and  carefully  he  made  such  in- 
vestigation as  was  possible,  then,  placing  the  sick 
man  once  more  in  comfort,  he  sat  down  and  re- 
garded the  peaked  face  with  a  strange,  keen  glance. 

"  Your  condition  is  extremely  serious,"  he  began, 
and  in  a  few  cold  words  he  pronounced  Don  Q.'s 
sentence  of  death. 

"It  is  then  impossible  to  save  my  life?"  The 
unaltered  suavity  of  the  brigand's  weak  voice  sur- 
prised the  hearer. 

"  Certainly,  unless  you  were  to  undergo  an 
operation." 

"If  I  do  not  undergo  this  operation,  how  long 
do  you  give  me  of  life  ?  " 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  97 

"A  week,  a  month,  I  cannot  determine  the  period, 
but  it  must  be  short." 

"  You  are,  I  understand,  a  marvellous  surgeon, 
and  the  greatest  living  authority  on  this  disease  of 
mine?  "  inquired  Don  Q. 

Sir  William  made  an  impatient  movement. 
"  Some  people  may  choose  to  say  so." 

''Then,  sefior,  you  shall  operate  at  once.  I  place 
myself  in  your  hands  with  entire  confidence  that 
you  will  exert  your  skill  to  save  my  life.  My  good 
fortune  has  sent  you  to  me  at  the  right  moment." 

Gasterton's  lip  twitched  oddly.  "  Do  not  rely 
on  me,"  he  said.  "  For  one  thing,  I  have  no  instru- 
ments here — " 

"  That  need  not  distress  you,"  returned  Don  Q., 
faintly.  "  Your  baggage,  which  you  left  in  the 
city,  will  arrive  in  a  few  hours,  and  I  have  given 
orders  that  certain  drugs  and  appliances  should  be 
obtained — I  imagined  an  operation  " — his  head  fell 
back.  '*  Brandy — call  no  one."  The  husky  whisper 
was  hardly  audible. 

Gasterton  rose  at  once,  and  did  all  that  could  be 
done  for  the  brigand's  comfort;  but  as  soon  as 
Don  Q.  regained  some  amount  of  strength,  he  spoke 
at  once : 

"  I  refuse  to  perform  any  operation  upon  you." 
There  was  a  curious  suggestion  of  malignancy  in 
the  refusal. 

"You  refuse?"  repeated  Don  Q.,  incredulously, 

"I  absolutely  refuse." 
7 


98  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  But  you  accompanied  Isabellilla  of  your  own 
will  to  give  your  aid  to  a  sick  person." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  The  woman's  distress  touched 
me ;  perhaps,  being  only  a  man,  her  beauty  appealed 
to  me,"  Gasterton  replied  with  a  rasping  candour; 
"  I  believed  her  child  was  ill,  not  a  man  such  as  you 
are!" 

"But  why?  You  were  only  compelled  to  come 
after  you  grew  suspicious  and  wished  to  turn  back. 
I  do  not  regard  you  as  a  captive.  I  ofifer  you  free- 
dom, and  any  fee  you  name  in  return  for  your  help. 
What  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you.  I  have  spent  almost 
twenty  years  in  learning  the  dexterity,  the  skill, 
the  knowledge  which  you  ask  me  to  use  for  your 
recovery,  but  I  did  not  spend  those  years  in  order 
to  prolong  the  life  of  a  man  who  is  a  robber — a 
mur— " 

Don  Q.  sat  up  panting  on  his  couch.  "  To  insult 
a  dying  man  is  the  feather  of  the  coward's  cap ! " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  would  have  given  you  freedom — 
all  I  had  to  give.  What?  Would  you  kill  me?" 
for  Gasterton  had  sprung  to  his  feet  half  in- 
voluntarily. 

But  at  Don  Q.'s  upraised  arm  he  stiffened. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  I  am  ? "  he  exclaimed 
thickly.  "  I  am  not  a  murderer !  You  arc  safe  from 
me,  whatever-— yes,  whatever  happens !  "  He  fin- 
ished harshly,  holding  his  head  high. 

Don  Q.  sat  silent,  and  palpitating  with  hi$  recent 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  99 

movement.  "  Then  I  accept  your  pledge  in  its 
entire  meaning.  Now  tell  me  how  long  I  have  to 
live,  and  as  the  answer  will  be  of  the  extremest 
interest  to  you,  I  beg  you  to  make  a  careful 
calculation." 

"  I  give  you  ten,  perhaps  even  twenty  days — may- 
be a  little  longer." 

*'And  I,  in  return  give  you  exactly  the  same  period 
of  life.  When  I  die,  you  also  shall  die.  Well 
sefior,  we  have  spoken  our  minds,  both  of  us.  We 
are  going  on  a  long  journey  together.  Till  we  start 
upon  it,  let  us,  if  possible,  brush  aside  our  differences 
and  live  in  amity." 

You  can  imagine  that  it  was  strange  company 
which  these  two  condemned  men  kept  each  other 
through  the  days  of  brightening  summer.  In  both 
burned  similar  fires  of  obstinacy,  of  resentment  for 
injury  done.  Not  much  unlike  either  in  attitude,  in 
thought,  or  even  in  those  dreams  which  creep  over 
the  mind  when  the  finality  of  existence,  the  port 
to  which  the  human  ship  is  blown  by  winds  as 
ancient,  as  inexorable  as  time,  rises  into  sight  over 
the  rim  of  life.  And  in  spite  of  warring  prejudices, 
the  very  power,  the  galling  insistiveness  of  each 
struck  some  answering  chord  in  the  nature  of  his 
companion. 

So  each  day  brought  home  to  Gasterton  the  fact 
that  the  courage  of  the  man  who  lay  upon  the  couch 
of  furs  was  stiffened  to  a  quality  far  above  the 


lOO  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ordinary,  for  Don  Q.  never  complained,  the  manner 
of  his  Hfe  had  led  him  to  eschew  sympathy.  It  was  a 
strange  experience  to  this  doctor,  used,  as  he  was,  to 
the  inevitable  groping  towards  companionship,  the 
pitiful  hand  the  dying  thrust  out  to  clasp  another 
human  hand  in  the  supreme  hours,  to  find  here  a  man 
from  whom  neither  pain  nor  the  approaching  close  of 
life  could  wring  even  a  phrase  of  appeal  or  self-pity. 

And,  it  must  be  owned  that  in  the  end  Gasterton, 
as  he  watched,  watched  in  admiration.  He,  too,  in 
a  like  position  would  have  shrunk  from  sympathy  as 
flesh  from  an  acid ;  he  too,  he  conceived,  was  above 
posing,  and  through  the  layers  of  hardening  ex- 
perience, of  ambition,  of  a  certain  embittered  con- 
verse with  his  kind,  which  covered  like  an  armour- 
plate  his  ultimate  humanity,  he  acknowledged  Don 
Q.  as  his  equal  in  the  very  characteristics  in  which 
he  held  himself  to  be  above  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

On  the  first  night  of  his  arrival,  after  the  moment- 
ous conversation  that  has  been  already  narrated, 
Don  Q.  had  called  Robledo  and  Isabellilla  into  his 
cave,  and  before  the  famous  surgeon  he  had  told  Rob- 
ledo of  his  sickness,  and  that  it  was  possible  death 
might  come  to  him  during  Sir  William  Gasterton's 
stay  among  the  mountains.  No  words  further,  no 
command  had  passed  between  Don  Q.  and  the  young 
mountaineer,  but  Gasterton  had  read  plainly  in  the 
nervously-closed  hand  of  Robledo,  as  in  the  stormy 
eyes  of  his  wife,  that  when  their  beloved  lord  set 
forth  upon  his  long  journey,  short  shrift  would  be 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  loi 

given  to  that  other  soul  which  was  destined  to  keep 
him  company. 

After  this  Don  Q.*s  manner  changed  to  that  of 
a  kindly  host.  By  slow  degrees  an  intimacy  of  ideas 
and  of  experiences  grew  up  between  the  two  men. 
Sometimes  late  in  the  night,  or  perchance  in  the 
early  hours  of  the  morning,  for  to  neither  of  them 
was  much  sleep  habitual,  Gasterton  would  be  led  on  to 
speak  of  the  things  he  had  seen,  of  men  he  had  met, 
of  the  struggles  of  his  career;  and  Don  Q.,  in  his 
turn,  would  narrate  (and  no  man  could  tell  a  story 
better)  episodes  of  an  earlier  life,  through  which 
sometimes  the  identification  of  a  great  name  would 
witness  to  the  position  the  brigand  had  relinquished 
on  that  bitter  day  when  he  rode,  a  self-sentenced 
exile,  through  the  snowy  defiles  of  the  sierra. 

Thus  for  six  days,  and  on  the  seventh  Gasterton 
found  himself  preferring  a  request.  It  was  late 
on  a  thunderous  afternoon,  and  a  long  silence  had 
fallen,  which  was  broken  by  Sir  William's  voice. 

"  Now  that  I  have  come  to  know  you  better,"  he 
said,  **  there  is  a  favour  I  would  ask  of  you." 

"  Except  in  one  particular,  sefior,"  replied  Don 
Q.,  "  I  am,  as  your  are  aware,  quite  at  your  service." 

"  Will  you  allow  me,"  said  Gasterton,  bluntly, 
**  to  draw  a  small — a  small — amount  of  blood  from 
your  arm  ?  " 

Don  Q.'s  grey,  peaked  face  rose  from  the  pillow 
in  a  stare  at  the  extraordinary  request.  "  You  will 
at  least  explain  to  me,  sefior,  to  what  end  ?  " 


102  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  You  already  know  that  I  have  spent  the  later 
years  of  my  life  in  constant  endeavour  to  open 
up  the  history  and  causes  of  the  disease  from  which 
you  suffer.  At  the  present  moment  we  have,  both 
of  us,  some  two  to  five  weeks  more  of  life.  I  have 
never  come  across  a  more  interesting  instance  of  this 
ailment  than  yours,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  if 
you  will  permit  me  to  describe  in  manuscript  exactly 
the  course  of  your  case,  I  would  bequeath  my  notes 
to  my  colleagues  in  England,  and  they  may  prove  of 
very  great  value  to  humanity." 

Don  Q.  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  for  a 
moment  so  strange  a  light  burned  in  his  sunken  eyes 
that  Sir  William  expected  an  outbreak  of  fury.  But 
the  first  words  of  the  brigand  convinced  him  of  his 
mistake. 

"  Most  willingly,  seiior,"  cried  Don  Q.,  "  do  I 
agree  to  your  wish,  and,  let  me  say,  it  is  one  that 
causes  me  lively  emotions  of  gratification.  It  would 
be  something  to  me,  seeing  that  I  must  die,  to  know 
that  the  manner  of  my  death  may  not  be  without  its 
uses  to  mankind.  It  will,  at  least,  be  a  consolation 
to  one  who  had  hoped  to  die  in  another  fashion." 

From  that  time  forth  a  table  with  note-books, 
instruments,  and  such  other  apparatus  as  he  needed 
was  set  aside  for  Gasterton's  use.  At  this  he  sat 
hour  after  hour  writing,  re-writing,  often  thinking, 
his  head  buried  in  his  hands ;  he  was  now  absorbed, 
eager,  now  anxiously  questioning,  self  and  the  im- 
pending moment  blotted   out  in   ardour   and  the 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  103 

engrossment  of  his  work.  And  Don  Q.  lay  and 
watched  him,  or  in  the  intervals  of  pain  held  with  him 
brief,  pregnant  conversations,  from  which  the  world 
to-day  draws  incalculable  benefit. 

It  was  a  situation  such  as  perhaps  has  never  before 
sprung  into  existence  in  the  history  of  man. 

And  now  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  constant 
sight  of  Don  Q.  stretched  upon  his  bed  of  suffering, 
and  always  uncomplaining,  began  to  raise  doubts 
in  the  mind  of  Gasterton. 

Day  and  night  the  insistive  question  surged  in 
his  brain — was  he  justified  in  refusal — was  he  justi- 
fied? At  the  outset  he  had  held  himself  entirely 
justified  in  his  resentment  of  the  fact  that  the  instinct 
of  the  healer  which  had  led  him  to  think  little  of 
danger  had  been  made  use  of  to  betray  him. 

Yet,  was  he  justified?  The  answer  became 
clearer  every  day;  yet  here  again  the  character  of 
the  man  balked  his  righteous  impulse. 

Since  his  sentence  was  that  when  Don  Q.  died 
he  also  must  die,  there  arose  in  him  a  lively  fear 
lest  if  he  now  consented  to  perform  the  operation 
wrong  motives  might  be  attributed  to  him  by  the 
man  whose  respect  he  had  come  to  feel  he  would 
not  lightly  lose  or  forfeit.  So,  that,  had  the 
initiative  remained  with  Gasterton,  it  is  hard  to  tell 
what  tragedy  might  have  resulted  that  advancing 
summer  in  the  Boca  de  Lobo.  The  initiative,  how- 
ever, came  from  another,  perhaps  nobler,  source. 


CHAPTER    XII 

HOW    DON    Q.    HAD    NEED    OF    A    SURGEON 

(continued) 

It  so  happened  one  evening  that  Sir  William  had 
gone  out  for  a  stroll,  and,  after  climbing  up  to  the 
forehead  of  the  gorge  and  listening  to  the  winds 
among  the  pines,  he  returned  over  their  fallen 
needles,  and  finally  mounted  with  his  quiet,  sick-bed 
step  to  the  cave. 

Feeling  that  he  could  not  for  the  moment  look 
upon  the  suffering  within,  and,  assailed  by  many 
influences — ^by  the  mood  of  the  evening,  by  the  long 
trouble  of  his  thoughts,  at  the  end  of  which  was 
always  a  black,  contorted,  and  gigantic  note  of  inter- 
rogation, set  there,  it  seemed  to  the  doctor's  question- 
ing mind,  by  a  Power  over  and  above  humanity. 
Pausing  thus,  there  came  to  him  a  sound  of  Spanish 
voices — he  had  begun  to  understand  that  tongue 
fairly  well — the  one  dry,  full  of  effort,  the  second 
charged  with  the  note  of  hopeless  sorrow,  the  third 
a  fierce  contralto,  easily  recognisable  as  that  of 
Robledo's  tempest-hearted  wife. 

Before  he  could  follow  his  instinct  to  move  away, 
the  surgeon  had  heard  enough  to  hold  him  prisoner. 

"  You  will  see  that  this  caballero,"  Don  Q.  was 
saying,  "  passes  down  from  the  sierra  in  safety.  It 
is  true  that  he  cannot  cure  me,  for  a  reason  that  you, 

104 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  105 

my  poor  Robledo,  could  never  understand.  He  is 
a  man  who  possesses  the  courage  of  his  convictions 
— but  I  wonder.  He  believes  that  the  hour  of  my 
death  will  be  his  own." 

"As  it  will,  as  it  will !  We  have  sworn  it,  Rob- 
ledo and  I,"  cried  the  woman's  voice. 

"  Isabellilla,  I  have  never  yet  been  disobeyed." 
Don  Q.'s  words  were  growing  weak.  "  This 
caballero  is  a  very  brave  man,  and  when  the  hour 
comes,  he  must,  under  your  protection  and  that  of 
Robledo,  go  down  to  the  city  in  safety.  When  you 
part  with  him,  tell  him  that  it  was  I  who  gave  him  his 
life."  A  sob  and  an  indistinct  protest  broke  in,  but 
Don  Q.  resumed,  "  Swear  to  me  this  shall  be  done." 

He  heard  no  more  but  turned  down  the  path,  for 
he  must  think  before  he  faced  the  brigand  again. 
By  the  time  he  came  back  to  the  cave  he  found  Don 
Q.  had  fallen  asleep.  He  hesitated  a  moment  and 
looked  at  his  watch — it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock.  He 
remembered  that  Don  Q.  had  been  able  to  take  no 
food  that  day,  he  hurried  to  his  table — then  hesitated 
again,  the  anesthetic  in  his  hand,  for  the  risk  that  lay 
before  him  was  sufficient  to  make  most  men  pause. 
If  Don  Q.  died  under  the  operation,  his  own  fate 
was  certainly  sealed,  as  nothing  would  persuade  the 
band  that  Gasterton  had  not  murdered  him  horribly ! 
Well,  he  must  face  that  chance. 

At  7.10  the  operation  was  complete. 

For  days  following,  life  and  death  battled  together 
for  Don  Q.    Gasterton,  watching  him,  saw  the  grey 


io6  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

shadow  creep  and  flicker  across  his  face,  then  sink 
again,  only  to  return.  Perhaps  never  in  his  career 
had  the  great  surgeon  fought  so  grim  a  bout  as  now. 
In  his  spare  frame  lay  immense  possibilities  of  stay- 
ing power.  He  hardly  knew  whether  it  was  night  or 
day.  All  his  fundamental  obstinacy  came  into  the 
struggle.  He  slept  by  snatches  in  his  chair,  and,  even 
through  his  sleep,  the  scene  before  his  waking  eyes 
hardly  left  him. 

The  black  walls,  the  shaded  lamp,  Don  Q.  on  his 
couch  incongruously  like  some  bird  of  the  elder 
world.  Isabellilla,  installed  by  the  patient,  brooding, 
fiercely  maternal,  nursing  back  to  life  the  man  who 
had  gained  through  tortuous  ways,  perhaps,  so  great 
a  hold  upon  her  affection.  Over  all  flickered  the 
firelight,  showing  by  the  door  the  crouched  figure 
of  Robledo,  suspicious,  frowning,  sombre  as  the  sad 
brown  hills,  which  were  all  he  knew  or  cared  to 
know  of  the  wide  world. 

At  last  there  came  a  change  and  hope,  and  Gaster- 
ton  beckoned  to  Isabellilla.  His  watch-weary  eyes 
met  hers,  and  he  read  something  of  doubt,  something 
of  jealousy,  even. 

"  I  desire,"  said  he,  "  that  you  make  me  a 
promise." 

"  I  listen,"  said  the  Spanish  woman. 

"  When  he  wakes,"  said  the  doctor,  "  when  he 
wakes  to  consciousness,  as  he  soon  will,  you  must  tell 
him  nothing  of  all  this.  You  must  allow  him  to 
think  that  he  owes  the  continuance  of  his  life  to  his 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  107 

own  strong  constitution,  not  to  my  skill.  Promise 
me  this." 

"  I  promise." 

Don  Q.  stirred,  and  Gasterton,  bending  over  him, 
drew  back,  laid  his  finger  on  the  pulse,  then,  turning 
to  Isabellilla  in  the  old  ungracious  way,  said :  "  The 
man  will  live." 

The  convalescence  of  Don  Q.  was  necessarily  slow. 
By  him  watched  Isabellilla,  and  Gasterton,  his  task 
over,  came  rarely  to  the  bedside — ^but  twice  a  day, 
in  fact,  night  and  morning,  when  he  carried  on  with 
cold  accuracy  his  scientific  observations.  For  the 
rest  of  the  time  he  wandered  about  the  gorge,  not- 
ing with  an  idle  eye  the  nesting  of  two  ravens  which 
for  twenty  years  had  carried  on  the  cares  of  family 
life  among  the  pines  at  the  head  of  the  ravine. 
How  would  the  brigand  now  interpret  the  bargain 
that  they  should  die  in  the  same  hour?  A  word  of 
explanation,  and  Don  Q.  would  doubtless  have 
given  him  liberty,  but  Gasterton  was  already  half- 
intolerant  of  his  own  late  doings,  and  pride  drove 
him  on  to  let  events  find  their  own  issue. 

The  heats  of  summer  found  Don  Q.  again  on  his 
terrace  with  Gasterton  beside  him. 

"  The  disease  is  broken  in  me,"  began  the  brigand. 
"  It  would  seem,  senor,  that  your  knowledge  has 
for  once  betrayed  you.  And  now  the  time  has  come 
to  renew  that  conversation  in  which  you  refused  to 
afford  me  the  only  help  that  seemed  at  the  time  of 
vital  necessity." 


io8  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Gasterton  said  nothing. 

"At  that  time,  senor,"  continued  Don  Q.,  "  I  de- 
clared that  we  should  die  in  the  same  hour.  But  the 
situation  has  changed,  and  I  have  decided  on  the 
course  of  action  which  it  seems  to  me  just  to  pursue." 

Gasterton  still  held  to  his  gift  of  silence. 

"  Sefior,  I  offer  you  a  choice."  went  on  Don  Q. ; 
"  for  I  shall  still  hold  you  to  the  bargain  I  made  with 
you  now  many  weeks  ago.  Either  you  will  remain 
with  me  in  the  mountains,  or  else  you  shall  give  me 
your  word  of  honour  that  if  I  let  you  go  to  carry  on 
your  work  in  the  world,  you  will,  on  receiving  the 
well-attested  news  of  my  death,  take  immediate 
measures  to  end  your  own  life." 

For  a  moment  Gasterton  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  then  he  looked  up. 

"  To  remain  here,"  he  replied,  "  would  be  to  waste 
not  only  my  future,  but  the  good  of  my  past  years 
of  labour.  I  am  forced,  therefore,  to  give  the  promise 
you  exact,  and  I  will  leave  this  place  to-morrow  by 
the  first  light." 

Travel  now  to  London  and  across  a  month  of  time. 
Sir  William  Gasterton  is  waiting  in  his  consulting- 
room  to  find  words  in  which  to  pronounce  the  irrevo- 
cable sentence  upon  one  of  those  poor  waifs,  high- 
placed  and  wealthy  in  the  ordinary  sense,  whom 
Destiny  has  flung  broken-winged  across  his  thresh- 
old. 

The  few  phrases  conveyed  with  them  a  sympathy, 


DON  Q.  AND  A  SURGEON  109 

the  lack  of  which  had  once  been  the  great  surgeon's 
greatest  failing;  their  recipient  was  shown  out  into 
the  rainy  street,  and  Sir  William  turned  to  find  a 
letter  bearing  the  Spanish  postmark  lying  on  his 
desk. 

Was  this  his  death-warrant?  he  thought,  and 
stood  still  with  an  involuntary  shock  of  feeling.  It 
had  seemed  hard  to  live  with  that  sword  above  him, 
and  now  that  it  was  about  to  fall,  how  much  would 
be  lost,  how  much  would  be  lost!  But  the  next 
moment  he  was  opening  the  envelope  with  the  care 
and  deliberation  that  attended  many  of  his  actions. 

"  Sir  William  Gasterton,"  he  read,  "  among 
the  numerous  great  qualities  which  go  to  form  your 
character,  and  which  have  placed  you  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  noblest  profession  in  the  world,  my 
observation  of  you  during  your  stay  in  the  sierra  led 
me  to  conclude  that  one,  and  that  a  most  important 
one,  was  conspicuously  absent.  You,  sefior,  when 
you  travelled  into  the  mountains  in  the  last  days  of 
April  lacked  sympathy.  You  were  case-hardened, 
it  may  be,  or  you  had  never  yourself  known  anything 
but  health.  For  this  reason,  senor,  I  have  allowed 
you — notwithstanding  your  great  services  to  me,  of 
which  I  was  all  along  well  aware — to  live  for  some 
weeks  in  the  Shadow.  I  now  give  you  back  your 
word;  and  if  you  will  divest  yourself  of  prejudice, 
I  trust  that  your  sense  of  justice  will  tell  you  that 
I  have  perhaps  not  failed  to  render  you  some  small 


no  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

service  in  return.  You  will  find  in  this  letter  a  sum 
of  money,  which  if,  as  I  apprehend,  you  will  not 
yourself  accept,  I  beg  you  present  to  one  of  those 
institutions  for  the  sick,  which  your  knowledge  of 
such  matters  tells  you  is  most  in  need  of  it. 

"  So  take  back  your  promise  given  to  me  in  the 
sierra,  and  no  longer  dread  to  hear  of  the  death  of 

Don  Q." 

Sir  William  Gasterton  remained  for  a  long  time, 
his  head  upon  his  hand.  "  A  lack  of  sympathy," 
he  said  at  length,  half  aloud.  "  Well,  it  may  be  he 
was  not  wrong." 


CHAPTER     XIII 

HOW  DON  Q.  FOUGHT  FOR  THE  VALDEREJOS 

It  happened  on  the  day  early  in  the  following 
summer  that  Don  Q.  descended  the  further  side  of 
the  sierra,  where  among  the  olive  groves  he  pur- 
posed inquiring  at  first-hand  into  the  particulars  of  a 
case  about  which  complaint  had  been  sent  to  him. 
Coming  one  evening  at  nightfall  to  a  village,  he 
decided  to  pass  the  night  in  the  posada,  which  stood 
alone,  cut  off  by  a  brawling  brook  from  the  other 
hovels. 

Over  the  wall  of  the  courtyard  a  single  palm  tree 
leaned  in  sad  and  ragged  glory,  for  the  inn  had 
embedded  itself  among  the  ruins  of  what  had  been  a 
spacious  Moorish  dwelling.  It  was  a  poor  place, 
with  no  promise  of  entertainment,  hence  the  brigand, 
riding  through  a  gap  in  the  broken  wall,  was  sur- 
prised to  see  a  carriage  standing  in  the  litter  of  the 
yard,  while  a  group  of  villagers  pressed  staring 
round  the  door  of  the  posada.  From  horseback  he 
looked  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  Within  the 
doorway  stood  a  woman  in  deep  mourning,  she  had 
gathered  her  draperies  about  her,  and  her  delicate 
feet  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  dirty  floor. 

"  Can  you  not  clean  the  place  a  little  that  I  may 
pass  the  night  under  a  roof?  "  she  was  saying  with 
haughty  courtesy. 

m 


112  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

The  innkeeper,  a  stout,  insolent-looking  young 
fellow,  protested  volubly  that  he  possessed  no  velvet 
carpet  fit  for  the  illiistrissima's  feet,  no  couch  of 
down  and  gold — ^here  he  threw  up  his  head  like  a 
jibbing  horse  and  halted  awkwardly. 

"  May  I  offer  my  poor  services  ?  "  At  sound  of 
Don  Q.'s  suave  voice  the  lady  turned  with  a  glance 
of  dismay,  almost  of  terror. 

It  was  very  evident  that  she  was  a  woman  of  rank 
and  refinement,  and  also  still  a  beautiful  woman, 
although  her  hair  was  streaked  with  grey,  and 
a  settled  sadness  accentuated  the  lines  of  her 
mouth. 

"  If  the  senora  will  condescend  to  sit  in  her  car- 
riage for  a  moment,  this  hovel  shall  be  made  as  fit 
for  her  occupation  as  it  is  possible  to  make  it." 

"  I  thank  you,  sefior,  but  I  detain  you,  and  the 
darkness  will  soon  fall,"  she  replied. 

"  My  destination  is  yet  distant,  senora,  and  I 
purposed  having  a  meal  here  on  my  way."  By 
this  time  the  lady  found  herself  being  led  with  all 
the  punctiliousness  of  Spanish  ceremony  back  to  her 
carriage. 

"  Senor,"  she  said,  "  I  thank  you  for  your  aid, 
but  I  cannot  consent  to  return  to  the  posada  unless 
you  remain  to  dine  there  as  you  intended." 

Once  again  Don  Q.'s  sombrero  touched  the 
ground.  "  Will  the  sefiora  honour  me  so  greatly 
as  to  dine  with  me  before  I  ride  forward  ?  " 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  the  brigand  returned 


DON  Q  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS     113 

to  the  inn  for  a  word  with  the  patron,  who  awaited 
him  trembHng. 

"  What  insolence  is  this,  Tobal  ?  You  refuse 
your  hospitaHty  to  the  illustrious  lady  ?  "  He  cut 
short  Tobal's  eager  excuses  of  "  much  work,  much 
trouble,"  saying,  "  Let  all  be  quickly  prepared  if 
you  would  save  yourself  from  punishment." 

Dona  Adonza  in  her  carriage  heard  nothing  of 
this  interlude,  and  beheld  in  amazement  the  sudden- 
born  activity  of  the  whole  community ;  they  hurried, 
collided,  pushed  each  other  aside  in  their  anxiety  to 
be  busy,  and  she  concluded  the  hidalgo  who  had 
come  to  her  aid  must  be  a  man  of  influence.  Later 
their  acquaintance  ran  on  smoothly,  and  before  the 
last  dish  was  laid  on  the  table  Don  Q.'s  tact  had 
swept  away  most  of  those  small  social  reserves  that 
hinder  the  ripening  of  friendly  intercourse. 

"  I  am  thankful  for  your  presence,  seiior,"  she 
was  saying,  "  for  I  am  terrified  of  these  mountains." 

"And  why,  senora  ?  "  By  mutual  delicacy  they 
were  yet  ignorant  of  each  other's  names. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  somewhere  up  yonder 
is  the  lair  of  the  brigand,  Don  Q.  ?  "  She  dropped 
her  voice  at  the  name. 

"  Why  should  that  fact  trouble  you  ?  Surely  you 
have  no  fear  of  him  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  He  is  a  terrible  person !  " 
Dona  Adonza  shut  her  fan  emphatically  to  point 
the  adjective. 

The  brigand  shook  his  head.  "  To  his  enemies 
8 


114  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

perhaps  he  is  terrible,  but  no  story  has  ever  reached 
my  ears  of  harshness  to  your  sex." 

"  He  is  merciful  to  women,  yes ;  but  believe  me, 
to  men  he  is  pitiless !  '* 

A  stifled  sneeze  broke  the  silence.  Don  Q.  rose 
quietly  from  the  table,  and  opened  the  inner  door  as 
Tobal  fell  back  from  it.  Don  Q.  seized  him  by  the 
ear,  and  forced  him  out  of  sight.  "  Corpse  of  a 
scullion ! "  he  v^^hispered  with  venom,  "  what  is  it 
that  I  find  you  doing?  Listening?  Stretching  your 
rabbit  ears  to  hear?  Back  to  your  pans,  animal! 
Were  it  not  for  the  presence  of  this  lady  I  would 
paunch  you  in  your  own  kitchen ! " 

Don  Q.  returned  to  his  seat.  "  Pardon  me,  senora, 
I  fear  you  may  have  fancied  I  was  angry.  Alas,  I 
have  gone  through  the  world  supporting  the  cross  of 
a  perhaps  hasty  temper." 

But  Doiia  Adonza  protested  she  had  heard  noth- 
ing, and  the  brigand  resumed : 

"  We  were  discussing  Don  Q.  Has  it  ever  struck 
you  that  he  may  be  a  person  of  some  culture  ?  That 
he  also  may  have  his  regrets?  Living  up  there 
among  the  crags,  surrounded  by  none  but  barbarous 
men,  do  you  think  it  possible  he  may  sigh  for 
days  now  past,  and  long  for  joys  now  denied 
him?" 

"  I  believe  there  is  a  tradition  which  declares  him 
to  be  a  man  of  breeding,"  she  replied,  **  but  it  cannot 
be  true." 

"And  why  not,  senora?    Pray  tell  me." 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    115 

**  Need  I  explain  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  The  man- 
ner of  his  life — " 

"  The  poor  bless  his  name,"  interjected  Don  Q. 

"  True.  More  than  that,  they  actually  seek 
justice  at  his  hands.  Can  it  be  that  you  know  Don 
Q.?" 

"  I  think  I  may  say  as  much." 

"And  you  continue  to  think  favourably  of  him?  " 
She  raised  her  hands. 

Don  Q.  waved  the  cigarette  he  had  been  permitted 
to  light.  "  He  has  his  faults — like  the  rest  of  us," 
he  observed  tolerantly. 

"He  is  well  bom?" 

"  So  I  should  judge." 

"And  handsome?" 

Don  Q.  started.  "  I  should  not  call  him  precisely 
— handsome,"  he  responded,  "perhaps  distinguished- 
looking  would  be  the  more  accurate  epithet." 

"  I  wonder  then  he  should  lead  so— strange  a 
life." 

"  Do  you  wonder,  seiiora?  "  her  companion  spoke 
in  a  softened  tone,  "  for  I  see  you  also  have  known 
grief — do  you  wonder,  you  who  perhaps  understand 
that  destiny  drives  some  of  us  with  an  implacable 
rein?" 

Her  pale  face  was  stricken  grey.  "  You  say 
truly,  seiior,  for  I  who  speak  to  you  was  once  as 
other  women  are — merciful  to  all  the  world.  But 
not  now!  My  life  is  broken!"  using  the  pathetic 
phrase  so  frequent  on  Spanish  lips. 


Il6  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Don  Q.  sat  mute,  his  head  bent,  as  he  listened. 

She  went  on  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  had  a  son,  he  was 
my  life — ^he  was  my  all  in  the  world.  He  loved  me 
as  I  loved  him.  The  future  promised  everything. 
Juan  was  capable,  noble,  ambitious — " 

A  long  and  troubled  silence  fell  between  them. 
This  vision  of  a  shattered  life  appealed  peculiarly  to 
Don  Q.,  but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  next  words. 

"  I  have  lost  him — ^lost  my  son !  He  was  assas- 
sinated !  And  what  is  left  for  me  ?  I  weep,  I  weep, 
I  weep!" 

The  poignant  repetition  pierced  Don  Q.  He 
rose  abruptly.  "  Seiiora,  by  whom  was  this  crime 
committed  ?  " 

"  By  one  who  could  use  the  cloak  of  the  law,  even 
that  of  the  code  of  honour.  Count  Julowski  is  a 
professed  duellist.  It  happened  in  Vienna.  Juan, 
only  that  morning  arrived  in  the  city,  was  mounting 
the  steps  of  the  club;  the  Count,  coming  out  in  an 
ill-humour,  insulted  him.  They  met  at  dawn.  It 
was  over  in  a  moment.  Juan  was  only  a  lad, 
seiior!  ...  I  was  in  Paris.  I  flew  to  his  side. 
Alas!  he  lay  there  very  cold  and  peaceful,  for  the 
first  time  in  all  his  life  unanswering  to  my  love. 
Juan,  Juan ! "  She  stood  up,  and  moved  restlessly 
from  end  to  end  of  the  room. 

Don  Q.,  with  fixed  eyes,  seemed  not  to  §ee  her. 
Then,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  he  asked :  "  This 
assassin — ^he  still  lives?" 

The  tall  %ure  in  its  sweeping  robes  of  black 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    117 

halted  at  once.  She  turned  her  head  to  one  side, 
as  one  who  hears  a  sound  and  waits  for  its  repetition. 
Then  she  moved  slowly  back  to  the  table. 

"  Look  at  me !  "  She  stretched  out  her  arms.  "  I 
am  a  mother  ravaged  by  sorrow !  That  crime  is  yet 
unavenged.  My  friends,  all  on  whom  I  relied, 
have  failed  me!  There  is  not  one  man  amongst 
them  but  gives  me  his  pity,  his  tears,  but  not  one 
who  will  give  me  his  aid !  " 

Don  Q.  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  I  have  kept  the  sword  of  Juan,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  will  bestow  it  on  his  avenger,  for  it  is  a  sword 
of  honour.  Once,  sefior,  it  belonged  to  a  distant 
kinsman  long  dead,  but  whose  courage  and  chivalry 
can  never  be  forgotten.  Had  he  lived  my  vengeance 
would  have  been  secure." 

"Lady,  may  I  venture  to  utter  your  name?  I 
know  it  now.  You  are  the  Dofia  Adonza  de  Val- 
derejo,"  said  the  brigand  very  humbly.  "  I  have 
a  boon  to  beg  of  you.  My  birth  is  not  obscure,  and 
I  still  can  draw  a  sword.    I  lay  it  at  your  feet." 

She  drew  back,  trembling  violently.  "  What  is 
it  you  mean?    You  are  noble?  " 

"  Of  the  noblest  blood  in  Spain.  Do  not  ask 
my  name;  if  I  succeed  on  your  errand  you  shall 
know  it.  Yet  be  assured  your  revenge  rests  in  hands 
not  altogether  unworthy,  and,  it  may  be,  strong 
enough  to  compel  justice  in  your  cause." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

HOW  DON  Q.  FOUGHT  FOR  THE  VALDEREJOS — 

(continued) 

After  settling  the  dispute  among  the  olive  groves, 
in  the  patriarchal  fashion  for  which  he  was  famed 
throughout  the  countryside,  imagine  Don  Q.  setting 
forth  by  the  Andalucian  railway  upon  this  journey 
of  knight-errantry. 

From  the  very  beginning  the  adventure  attracted 
him,  and  this  for  several  reasons.  First,  danger 
was  always  his  magnet ;  second,  to  his  haunted  mind 
action  was  the  chloroform  of  thought.  He  was  never 
so  apt  to  undertake  one  of  his  freakish  escapades  as 
when  he  had  for  a  period  been  dwelling  alone  with 
his  memories  in  the  mountains,  then  at  the  moment 
when  other  men  would  have  turned  to  grosser 
pleasure,  Don  Q.  would  plunge  into  some  exploit 
in  which  he  flung  his  life  upon  the  gaming-table  of 
the  world,  and  played  all  comers  for  it. 

These  were  two  of  his  reasons.  The  third  was  as 
strong  as  either,  for  this  mission  promised  to  lead 
him  back  into  a  brief  contact  with  those  of  his  own 
class.  "  To  hear  again  the  music  of  voices  I  used  to 
know,  to  mix  once  more  with  my  equals,  to  pass  an 
hour  amongst  those  who  can  appreciate  the  turn  of 
a  phrase,  even  the  bow  of  ceremony  of  a  gentleman 
of  Spain — these  things  I  am  inclined  to  seek,  it  may 

118 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    119 

be  rashly,  but  they  are  among  the  last  pleasures  of 
a  very  lonely  man."     So  in  his  autobiography. 

On  the  way  he  passed  through  the  scenes  of  his 
youth,  gaining  views  of  weather-stricken  towers, 
of  cities  still  proud  though  forgotten.  Not  even  a 
stranger  can  go  unmoved  through  that  land  of  mem- 
ories, that  passion-flower  of  the  centuries,  which 
now,  after  so  many  splendid  and  desperate  yester- 
days, lies  broken  at  the  stem  by  the  lustier  Anglo- 
Saxon  hand. 

But  once  through  the  passes  of  the  Pyrenees,  such 
thoughts  dropped  from  Don  Q.,  for  he  possessed 
that  essential  quality,  common  to  men  of  action, 
of  purging  from  his  mind  in  an  instant  the  clogging 
influences  of  the  dreamer. 

In  Paris  he  learnt  that  Count  Julowski,  who  was 
famous  enough  to  have  his  movements  recorded, 
was  to  be  found  at  Mont  St.  Michel,  on  the  Norman 
coast.  Don  Q.  hurried  north,  and,  alighting  from 
the  train  at  Pontorson,  climbed  upon  the  roof  of 
one  of  the  diligences  which  at  that  date  conveyed 
travellers  across  the  viaduct  to  the  Mount.  So  it 
came  about  that  in  company  with  a  score  of  Jesuits 
on  holiday  Don  Q.  bumped  and  jerked  along  the 
high  road  until  the  villas  were  left  behind,  the  main- 
land began  to  recede,  and  the  old  monkish  strong- 
hold, church,  and  prison  rose  out  of  the  vast  fore- 
shore of  quicksands  and  shallows,  a  monument  of 
history,  with  the  white-lipped  ripples  of  the  advanc- 
ing tide  playing  about  its  feet. 


I20  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Blue  sky  above,  and  a  salt  wind  swooping  down 
to  meet  them,  laden  with  the  odour  of  weed,  from 
the  young  changing  sea  to  the  staled  earth.  The 
air  was  full  of  the  crying  of  shorebirds,  and  he 
felt  to  the  utmost  the  influence  of  the  hour,  and 
was  quite  ready  for  the  dejeuner  of  golden  omelet 
that  soon  lay  on  a  little  table  before  the  hotel  door 
by  the  side  of  the  narrow  street. 

His  vis-a-vis  was  an  English  tourist  in  a  flagrant 
cycling  suit,  who,  having  finished  his  meal,  was  mak- 
ing play  with  a  toothpick,  and  patronising  the  fresh 
arrivals. 

"  This  animal  is  of  a  most  offensive  type,"  com- 
mented Don  Q.,  inwardly,  *'  yet  I  may  learn  some- 
thing from  him." 

But  the  cyclist  did  not  need  prompting ;  he  pushed 
his  elbow  half  across  the  table  in  an  easy  attitude. 
"Making  anything  of  a  stay?" 

"A  day  or  two,"  replied  Don  Q.  with  a  bow. 
"Have  you  found  the  place  interesting?" 

"  Well,  personally,  I  don't  take  much  account  of 
cold  stone;  humanity  is  my  study." 

The  brigand  murmured  his  admiration  for  the 
other's  tastes,  and  inquired  if  there  was  much  scope 
for  the  study  at  Mont  St.  Michel. 

"  Yes,  there  is,  just  now.  .  .  .  Look  at  him !  " 
The  tourist  grasped  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  craned 
his  neck  to  watch  a  tall  man  stalk  across  the  cobbled 
street,  and  take  a  chair  under  the  awning  on  the 
opposite  side.    He  was  a  thin,  well-tailored  person- 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    121 

age,  in  whose  yellow  face  only  the  eyes  seemed 
gleamingly  alive.  He  stretched  his  long  legs  in 
front  of  him,  cocked  his  panama  at  a  more  rakish 
angle,  and,  placing  one  hand  upon  his  hip,  prepared 
to  survey  the  company. 

"  Everyone  appears  to  find  interest  in  this  person. 
Pray  who  may  he  be?  "  asked  Don  Q.,  although  he 
felt  already  the  joy  of  the  hunter  who  has  run  his 
quarry  to   earth. 

"  That,  sir,  is  Count  Julowski,  the  celebrated 
duellist,"  replied  the  other,  proud  of  his  information. 
"  He's  close  on  his  half-hundred,  they  tell  me." 

In  recording  this  conversation,  Don  Q.  added  this 
remark :  "  I  find  that  Julowski's  reputation  has 
gone  abroad  in  Mont  St.  Michel.  He  forms  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  place,  like  the  ancient  horrors 
of  the  Abbey,  or  those  Chinese  lanterns,  by  the 
romantic  light  of  which  one  mounts  the  old  stone 
stairway  up  the  cliff  to  the  annexes  after  dark. 
People  are  eager  to  stare  at  this  stalking  personage, 
whose  only  claim  to  renown  lies  in  the  fact  that  he 
has  recently  slain  a  fellow-creature,  and  may  be 
expected  at  no  distant  date  to  slay  others.  Contradic- 
tory as  it  may  seem,  such  a  state  of  things  could  not 
exist  save  in  a  civilisation  such  as  ours,  where  men 
are  no  longer  lords  of  the  sword,  where  the  old- 
world  arts  of  war  and  the  strong  hand  have  decayed, 
and  in  which  folk  live  on  a  platform  of  artificial 
safety  scaffolded  by  the  police-taxes  that  they  pay." 

Don  Q.  was  very  busy  throughout  the  forenoon ; 


122  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

he  went  thoroughly  over  the  ramparts,  and  all  about 
the  rock  of  Mont  St.  Michel.  He  conversed  with 
fishermen,  waiters,  visitors;  he  made  himself 
acquainted  with  the  gossip  of  the  little  town;  he 
heard  much  of  Julowski;  he  threw  himself  several 
times  in  the  way  of  the  Count,  but  chance  on  each 
occasion  caused  that  individual  to  avoid  him. 

Yet  perhaps  if  Julowski,  as  he  sat  at  the  table 
d'hote  that  evening,  had  been  asked  to  pick  out 
the  one  of  all  others  present  least  likely  to  desire 
to  try  with  him  the  arbitrament  of  the  sword,  he 
might  have  chosen  the  pale,  fragile,  bald-headed 
man,  whose  fastidiousness  and  gentle  politeness  had 
already  attracted  his  attention,  and  whose  assumed 
name  and  nationality  were  imparted  to  him  by  a 
neighbour  at  table. 

Next  morning  Julowski  walked  on  the  ramparts. 
It  was  again  a  blue  and  glorious  day  of  young 
summer,  and  he  stopped  now  and  then  to  lean  upon 
the  wall  and  gaze  out  seawards,  where  he  could  see 
the  tide  on  its  twinkling  white  feet  dancing  in 
across  the  wastes  of  sand.  Over  and  about  the 
moving  line  of  foam  clouds  of  shorebirds  flew  and 
settled,  and  flew  again  with  faint  shrill  cries,  and 
above  all  rose  the  shrieking  clamour  of  the  gulls. 

Presently,  as  he  rounded  the  comer,  the  Count 
became  aware  of  the  slender  figure  of  the  Spaniard, 
also  basking  in  the  sun. 

Don  Q.  faced  about  with  a  bow.  "  I  have  the 
honour  to  present  myself  to  Monsieur  the  Count." 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    123 

Julowski  scowled.  "I  do  not  desire  your 
acquaintance." 

"Alas !  that  has  unfortunately  become  a  necessity, 
since  I  am  here  at  this  moment  for  the  especial 
purpose  of  making  yours,"  said  Don  Q. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?" 

"  Believe  me,  my  desire  is  not  to  meet  you  as  a 
friend,  but  as  an  antagonist.  If  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  name  your  second — " 

"  I  have  no  such  friend  here." 

Don  Q.'s  face  cleared  a  little.  "  Neither  have  I, 
therefore  our  mutual  affair  becomes  at  once  of  the 
most  entire  simplicity.  We  will  meet  unaccompanied 
by  seconds  in  the  small  wood  at  the  back  of  the 
Mount,  or  upon  the  sands  at  break  of  day,  when  the 
tide  will  be  far  out,  in  the  position  most  happy  for 
our  purpose." 

Julowski's  sinister  eyes  drew  together.  "  I  have 
no  quarrel  with  you." 

"A  trifling  objection  to  be  at  once  removed," 
Don  Q.  replied,  staring  up  at  him  with  grimness. 
"  Monsieur,  your  countenance  displeases  me !  " 

The  deep  yellow  of  Julowski^s  face  was  charged 
with  fury,  but  he  controlled  himself.  "  Your 
opinion  does  not  disturb  me.  I  will  not  fight  with 
you."  He  turned  on  his  heel,  but  in  a  second  Don 
Q.  was  again  in  his  path. 

"  In  the  name  of  Don  Juan  de  Valderejo,"  he 
cried. 

The  black  eyes  of  the  Count  flashed  upon  him. 


124  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"Another  Spaniard!  I  will  kill  no  more  Span- 
iards!" 

"As  to  that,  you  have  already  killed  one  too 
many.  I  also  am  of  the  blood  of  the  Valderejos. 
Before  you  can  keep  your  resolution,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  exterminate  us ! " 

Julowski  made  no  immediate  reply.  In  the  pause 
the  cries  of  the  seabirds  upon  the  foreshore  grew 
louder  as  the  tide  approached.  Noon,  fresh,  bouy- 
ant,  joyous,  seemed  to  poise  himself  upon  the  battle- 
ments with  wide  golden  wings.  But  Julowski 
stood  darkly  considering  the  fierce  face  before  him. 
"  It  was — "  he  began. 

A  burst  of  voices  drowned  his  speech,  as  a  troop 
of  tourists  broke  in  upon  their  solitude,  the  cyclist 
among  them.  They  lingered  talking  in  lowered 
tones,  and  devoured  by  curiosity  to  discover  the 
cause  of  dispute  which  had  evidently  arisen  between 
the  duellist  and  the  hawk-nosed  Spaniard.  Don  Q. 
seized  the  opportunity  to  force  Julowski's  hand.  "  I 
repeat,  monsieur,  that  your  countenance  displeases 
me,"  he  said  loudly. 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  insult 
me  because  you  aspire  to  enjoy  a  brief  fame  as  my 
opponent  in  an  encounter,"  he  said  derisively;  "but 
I  refuse  to  gratify  your  ambition." 

"  You  will  not  shelter  yourself  behind  an  excuse 
of  such  imbecility !    Can  it  be  that  you  are  afraid  ?  " 

"  My  reputation  forbids  any  man  to  believe  that. 
Pah!     I  will  not  fight  you,"  Julowski  exclaimed, 


IHERK     WAS    A     KUSH     AND    A 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    125 

then  with  a  glance  at  the  tourists  he  added :  "  You 
are  without  doubt  a  knight-errant,  monsieur,  and  I 
am  desolated  not  to  be  able  to  oblige  your  desire  for 
suicide ! " 

Don  Q.'s  reply  was  prompt.  He  stepped  forward 
and  struck  the  Count  across  the  mouth  with  his 
sombrero.  There  was  a  rush  and  a  hubbub  among 
the  spectators,  half-a-dozen  hands  seized  Don  Q. 
and  dragged  him  back. 

"  It's  lucky  for  you  I  was  here,"  remarked  the 
cyclist  complacently  in  his  ear. 

Then  Julowski  disappeared,  and  the  incident  was 
over. 


CHAPTER    XV 

HOW  DON  Q.  FOUGHT  FOR  THE  VALDEREJOS 

(continued) 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night  Don  Q.  tramped  his 
small  bedroom,  set  high  on  the  cliff,  with  steps  of 
fury,  as  the  whole  episode  of  the  morning  worked 
round  and  round  in  his  brain.  What  lethargy  had 
chained  his  feet  while  Julowski  stalked  away  amidst 
the  nervous  grins  of  the  tourists  ?  He  blamed  him- 
self, refusing  to  admit  that  he  had  in  fact  been 
stunned  by  the  amazing  discovery  that  Julowski  could 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  insult,  and  reject  point  blank  an 
affair  of  honour !  Never  for  an  instant  had  such  a 
contingency  occurred  to  him  as  possible. 

That  Julowski  should  refuse  a  public  challenge, 
and  shelter  himself  behind  his  reputation,  was  a 
thought  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason,  and  for  the 
moment  Don  Q  felt  his  design  in  check.  Conceive 
the  position,  and  you  will  at  once  see  that  it  favoured 
the  duellist.  He  was  known,  he  occupied  a 
grotesquely  high  niche  in  the  opinion  of  those  at 
present  about  him;  whereas  Don  Q.,  as  a  stranger, 
had  no  standing,  his  well-attested  bravery  was  of  no 
advantage,  as,  for  obvious  reasons,  he  could  not 
declare  himself. 

Yet  one  thing  was  clear.  He  must  force  an  inter- 
view with  the  Count  before  morning.     The  night 

126 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    127 

was  waning,  but  no  tinge  of  grey  yet  paled  the 
blackness  of  the  horizon,  when  the  brigand  stepped 
out  upon  the  small  balcony  of  his  window  that 
hung  high  above  a  gulf  of  gloom.  Lower  on  the 
cliff's  side  he  could  just  descry  the  roof  that  covered 
the  head  of  his  enemy. 

The  scent  of  the  sea  marshes  came  up  fragrant 
with  the  breath  of  the  ocean,  and  the  questing  note 
of  the  curlew  told  that  dawn  was  near.  He  lost 
no  time,  but  turning  back  into  the  room,  he  kindled 
his  lantern,  and  a  moment  later  emerged  on  the 
ancient  stone  stairway,  whose  moss-grown  steps  led 
to  the  annexe  where  Julowski  was  quartered.  The 
wall  felt  damp  under  his  fingers  as  he  groped  his  way 
down,  and  a  chill  quiet,  sad  as  night  itself,  pene- 
trated the  thin  air.  Passing  along  a  corridor,  he 
saw  a  faint  light  under  the  Count's  door.  The 
Spaniard  unclosed  it  cautiously,  and  slipped  into 
the  room  before  the  Count  was  aware  of  his  identity. 
Julowski  had  sprung  from  his  bed  and  faced  him. 
Don  Q.  cast  a  rapid  glance  over  the  gaunt  figure 
clad  in  elaborate  silken  night  attire,  before  he  spoke. 

"  Although  the  men  of  my  race  do  not  turn  back 
when  the  knife  is  loose  in  the  sheath,  it  is  not  my 
intention  to  assassinate  you,"  he  said.  "  I  again 
challenge  you  to  an  encounter." 

"  You  will  force  me  to  kill  you ! "  sneered 
Julowski. 

"  It  is  my  intention  that  you  shall  make  the  at- 
tempt.    But  you  will  permit  me  to  say  beforehand 


128  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

that  I  am  for  you  a  somewhat  formidable  opponent, 
for  I  do  not  value  my  life,  nor  am  I  disturbed  by 
your  great  fame  as  a  duellist,  a  matter  that  might 
tell  heavily  in  your  favour.  We  stand  equal.  You 
do  not  know  my  skill,  I  do  not  fear  yours." 

"  You  shall  be  seized  and  punished." 

Don  Q.  handled  his  revolver.  "  Does  a  dead 
man  value  revenge?  If  you  will  not  fight  me,  I 
must  kill  you !  " 

The  sentences  shot  back  and  forth  like  an 
exchange  of  blows.  The  black  square  of  the  case- 
ment gave  a  sense  of  height  in  the  dark,  of  remote- 
ness, as  if  they  two  hung  alone  between  earth  and 
sky. 

"  You  are,  then,  an  assassin ! "  the  Count  cried, 
in  his  strident  whisper.  "  Hear  me !  By  inadvert- 
ence I  killed  Don  Juan  de  Valderejo.  Had  I  known 
his  nationality — " 

"  You  fear  my  race?  "  exclaimed  Don  Q. 

"  Not  for  their  swordsmanship,  nor  for  their 
gallantry,  be  assured,  monsieur,"  replied  the  Count, 
bitterly,  "  but  I  will  tell  you  why,  since  you  desire 
the  chances  to  be  even  in  our  encounter.  Long  ago, 
one  who  could  foretell  the  future  warned  me.  In 
a  vision  she  beheld  my  grave,  and  beside  it  stood 
a  Spaniard  with  a  drawn  sword.  If  I  fight  with 
you,  by  some  fatality  this  dream  may  come  true. 
Hence  I  am  handicapped  by  fear — the  balance  does 
not  hang  level  between  us." 

Don  Q.'s  fantastic  chivalry  took  fire.     "  Courage 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    129 

is  of  various  kinds,"  he  said,  **  and  I  conceive  my- 
self to  be  somewhat  of  an  epicure  in  courage.  You 
will  not  draw  your  sword  upon  me  because  you  fear. 
Therefore  I  propose  that  we  make  trial  of  another 
hazard.  I  challenge  you  with  the  dice — the  best  of  a 
single  throw." 

''And  the  penalty  of  the  loser?" 

"  Will  rest  with  the  winner.   Come,  let  us  throw." 

But  Julowski  hesitated. 

"  You  must  decide  within  three  minutes,  or  I 
will  shoot  you  where  you  stand,"  added  Don  Q., 
and  Julowski  could  not  doubt  the  reality  of  the 
threat. 

"  Luck  has  never  yet  deserted  me,"  he  reflected. 
"  Besides,  the  dice  are  mine."  Then,  aloud :  "  I 
agree — under  protest." 

"  That  is  well.  I  see  dice  upon  the  table.  I  will 
throw  with  one,  you  with  the  other." 

Julowski  nodded.    *'  There  is  also  the  dicebox." 

But  to  this  Don  Q.  objected.  "  We  will,  with 
your  permission,  make  shift  with  those  tumblers 
for  that  purpose."  He  indicated  a  tray  set  with 
night  refreshment  for  the  Count. 

"  What  would  you  imply  ?  Am  I  not  a  man  of 
honour?"  The  duellist's  face  looked  bone-yellow 
in  the  grey  of  dawn. 

"  No  doubt,  monsieur,"  replied  Don  Q.,  politely. 

"  Nevertheless,  even  a  man  of  honour  in  the  constant 

handling  of  a  dicebox  learns  a  little  of  its  curves, 

its  weights,   its  possibilities — is  it  not  so?     But 

9 


130  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

these  tumblers  are  equally  foreign  to  the  hands  of 
both  of  us." 

They  stood  one  on  either  side  of  the  narrow  table 
before  the  open  casement.  Outside,  except  for  the 
crying  of  the  curlews,  all  was  still  and  quiet.  The 
first  delicious  breeze  of  day  fanned  their  faces,  a 
faint  rose  was  beginning  to  suffuse  the  dusky  air, 
and  all  the  gladness  born  on  a  pleasant  summer 
morning  wafted  into  that  little  chamber  on  the 
cliff.  It  was  difficult  to  think  that  death  waited 
there  too. 

"We  will  throw  together,"  said  Don  Q.,  and 
Julowski  perforce  consented. 

A  sharp  rattle,  and  the  dice  fell — Don  Q.'s  four 
as  against  the  Count's  three.  Julowski  snarled  a 
blasphemy,  the  blood  surged  to  his  eyeballs — ^he 
would  strangle  this  accursed  little  Spaniard  with 
his  hands!  But  the  mouth  of  Don  Q.'s  revolver 
stared  him  closely  between  the  eyes,  and  mingled 
with  the  dull  tolling  of  a  bell  throbbing  far  over- 
head from  the  convent  on  the  heights,  he  heard  Don 
Q.'s  soft  voice: 

"  You  are  a  man  of  honour,  Monsieur  de 
Julowski." 

The  sun  was  just  rising  above  the  horizon  when 
the  two  men  reached  the  little  grove  of  trees  which 
is  all  that  now  remains  of  that  once  vast  forest  of 
Scissy  that  in  the  early  centuries  joined  the  Norman 
coast  with  Jersey.  A  cold  wind  had  risen,  blowing 
in  from  the  sea,  but  the  promise  of  daybreak  bright- 


DON  Q.  AND  THE  VALDEREJOS    131 

ened  the  immense  waste  of  foreshore  lying  towards 
the  mainland. 

A  fisherman  somewhere  out  of  sight  sang  as  he 
hauled  together  his  nets;  the  gulls,  already  on  the 
move,  sounded  like  an  echo  of  the  pleasant  routine 
of  life;  all  the  opening  promise  of  day  struck  on 
Julowski's  senses  in  horrible  contrast  to  the  fate  that 
awaited  him  among  those  empty  miles  of  sand. 

Suddenly  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and 
pulled  out  a  revolver.  Swift  as  his  movement  was, 
that  of  Don  Q.  was  swifter. 

"  Hold  up  both  hands  above  your  head,"  he  cried, 
"  and  do  it  quickly,  or  I  shall  be  compelled  to  kill 
you." 

The  revolver  tinkled  down  upon  the  stones  as  the 
Count's  hands  flew  up.  On  the  moment  Don  Q. 
fired  two  shots  in  rapid  succession.  With  a  scream 
of  pain  Julowski's  hands  came  down. 

"  Brute !  Animal !  "  he  screamed.  "  You  have 
fired  twice  through  my  right  hand.  Would  you 
kill  me  by  inches?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Don  Q.,  picking  up 
Julowski's  revolver,  "  I  have  now  quite  finished 
with  you.  You  will  never  hold  a  sword  or  a  pistol 
with  that  hand  again.  Henceforward  you  will  be 
a  tiger  without  claws.  And  whenever  you  look  at 
your  scars,  you  will  possess  a  memento  of  the  crime 
which  you  committed  when  you  met  with  Juan  dc 
Valderejo  in  Vienna.  I  wish  you,  sefior,  a  good- 
morning." 


132  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

The  rest  of  the  story  tells  itself  best  in  two 
extracts.  The  first  from  a  prominent  Paris  news- 
paper. "  Count  Julowski  has  returned  to  Paris. 
It  is  a  matter  of  remark  in  all  circles  that  the  fam- 
ous duellist  now  wears  upon  his  right  hand  a  black 
glove.  It  is  whispered  that  he  has  donned  it  in 
memory  of  one  whom  he  killed,  and  that  he  has 
sworn  never  to  remove  it.  It  is,  moreover,  generally 
understood  that  the  celebrated  swordsman  has  made 
his  last  appearance  upon  the  field  of  honour,  and 
some  even  hint  that  he  is  often  a  prey  to  great 
remorse.  The  view  of  his  past  life  which  he  now 
takes  is  reported  upon  excellent  authority  to  be 
due  to  the  influence  and  conversation  of  a  certain 
great  churchman.'* 

The  other  extract  is  from  a  letter: 

"  I  send  to  you,  Don  Q.  of  the  sierra,  the  sword 
of  Juan.  Remember,  it  belonged,  in  earlier  days, 
to  that  noble  heart  whose  name  is  engraven  on  the 
hilt,  and  whose  deeds  will  never  be  forgotten  in  the 
annals  of  Spanish  chivalry.  Farewell,  I  will  always 
pray  for  you  through  all  the  days  of  your  wild  and 
stormy  life.  Adonza." 

Don  Q.  turned  to  the  sword,  and  drawing  it  from 
the  scabbard,  read  the  graven  name.  He  bent  his 
head  above  it,  wrenched  by  a  spasm  of  memory. 
For  the  name  he  read  was  that  which  he  himself  had 
once  borne,  but  which  he  could  never  bear  again. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

HOW   DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    PROFESSOR   JAPSLEY, 
F.R.S.,   PH.D. 

It  was  in  the  opinion  of  Don  Q.  a  regrettable 
fact  that  his  return  to  the  mountains  from  Mont 
St.  Michel  was  attended  with  no  happening  of 
interest,  but  he  had  hardly  settled  down  to  what  he 
has  termed  in  his  autobiography,  "  the  dreary 
monotony  of  sierran  routine,"  when  a  capture  was 
made  by  his  men,  which  he  always  considered  as  a 
milestone  upon  a  road  which  ran  broader  than  his 
individual  pathway. 

According  to  a  computation  made  by  the  brigand 
himself,  seven  captives  out  of  every  ten  gave  way, 
in  the  first  instance,  to  bluster.  They  boasted  of 
their  nationality,  they  alluded  significantly  to  their 
consuls,  their  navies,  and  the  paternal  care  of  their 
respective  governments.  The  man  who  had  just 
been  personally  conducted  into  the  presence  of  Don 
Q.  by  Caspar  and  Robledo  was  no  exception,  in 
that  he  essayed  indignant  protest  and  threatenings. 

He  stood  opposite  to  the  brigand,  watery-eyed, 
irritable,  his  big  forehead  white  and  glistening,  his 
grey  tail-coat  drawn  back  by  one  twitching  hand,  his 
scanty  beard  wagging  as  from  his  lips  there  poured 
forth  a  volume  of  speech,  in  which  such  words  as 
"  outrage,"  "  unparalleled,"  "  dastardly,"  stuck  up 

188 


134  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

through  the  main  flcK>d  of  verbiage  like  rocks  from  a 
torrent. 

"  From  all  of  which  I  gather,  seiior,"  said  Don 
Q.  gently,  when  his  prisoner  began  to  subside,  "  that 
you  count  yourself  to  have  met  with  misfortune  in 
our  mountains?  But  I  assure  you  many  excellent 
men  and  some  persons  of  renown  have  occupied  a 
similar  position  to  yours  and  said  considerably  less 
about  it." 

"  I  tell  you  I  protest  against  the  outrage  of  my 
capture  in  the  most  emphatic  manner !  I  am  travel- 
ling on  business  of  the  highest  consequence,  and  I 
demand  once  again  to  be  permitted  to  continue  my 
journey  to  Malaga  without  further  delay.  It  is 
imperative  that  I  should  arrive  there  quickly." 

"  That  is  an  unfortunate  circumstance." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  you  will 
not  release  me  ?  I  am  in  your  power  for  the  moment 
— ^but  for  the  moment  only.  Still,  so  great  is  my 
anxiety  to  proceed,  that  I  offer  you  £25  to  allow 
me  to  pursue  my  way." 

It  was  the  first  time  such  an  offer  had  been  made 
to  Don  Q. 

"  Pardon  me,  sefior,  but  for  whom  do  you  mis- 
take me?"  inquired  the  brigand. 

"  I  make  no  mistakes,"  said  the  prisoner,  peev- 
ishly. "  You  are  doubtless  one  of  those  footpads, 
who  here  in  Spain,  as  in  Sicily  and  Corsica,  take  to 
the  hills  because  they  have  committed  some  crime 
for  which  the  law  exacts  punishment." 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       135 

"And  so  you  offer  me  £25  to  release  you  ?  " 

"  I  might  make  the  sum  a  little  larger,  perhaps." 

Don  Q.  clapped  his  hands,  and  gave  some  order 
to  Robledo,  who  presently  reappeared,  bearing  a 
large  brass-bound  book. 

"  You  are  labouring  under  an  unfortunate  delu- 
sion," observed  Don  Q.,  as  he  turned  over  its  pages. 
"  In  order  to  correct  this  as  thoroughly  as  possible, 
I  am  about  to  read  out  some  entries  chosen  at 
random  from  this  volume,  which  constitutes  a  record 
of  my  proceedings  in  the  mountains,  where  I  have 
lived,  as  the  people  of  the  plains  will  tell  you,  for 
very  many  years.     For  instance: 

"  *  May  1 5th.  Count  von  Kurhamer.  Nation- 
ality, Prussian.  Captured  by  Detachment  3.  Ran- 
som demanded,  £10,000,  to  be  paid  before  June 
14th.  Ransom  received,  June  3rd.  Note. — It  is 
strange  that  this  young  man's  friends  should  have 
preferred  to  regain  him.' 

"  Let  us  turn  to  another  year : 

"  *  Sept.  I  St.  Sir  Graham  Marks.  Nationality, 
British.  Captured  by  Detachment  i,  while  admir- 
ing the  interior  of  the  shrine  of  San  Pedro 
of  the  Sierra.  Ransom  demanded,  £3000,  to  be 
paid  by  October  15th.  Ransom  received,  Oct.  13th. 
Note, — A  very  noble  caballero,  who  made  a  charm- 
ing guest.' 

"  I  may  mention  that  Don  Graham  secured  some 
excellent  heads  of  ibex  during  his  stay  among  us. 
In  saying  good-by,  I  lost  a  friend. 


136  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

*'  Now,  senor,  at  a  glance  we  will  see  the  other 
side  of  the  picture.  See,  I  open  the  leaves  at  a 
venture. 

"  'April  28.  Don  Luis  del  Monte.  Nationality, 
Spanish.  Captured  by  special  detachment.  Ran- 
som demanded,  2000  pesetas.  .  .  .'  There  is  here 
a  little  gap,  seiior,  but  the  entry  ends :  *  Buried  May 
25th.     Note. ''' 

"  Read  me  no  more  from  this  infernal  book !  " 
The  prisoner  had  wound  his  hand  in  the  length  of 
his  thin  beard. 

Don  Q.  closed  the  volume  and  handed  it  back  to 
Robledo. 

"1  tell  you  I  am  a  British  subject!"  exclaimed 
the  captive  again. 

"  As  to  that,  no  fewer  than  nineteen  of  your 
compatriots  have  been  here  before  you,"  replied 
Don  Q. 

"  But  I  am  a  man  of  some  consequence  to  the 
world." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  And  now  that  we  know 
exactly  where  we  stand,  let  me  beg  you  to  give  me 
a  few  particulars  to  be  entered  presently  in  my 
business  diary.     Your  name,  senor." 

"  Shruppill  Japsley,  F.R.S.,  Ph.D.  And  since  you 
must  enter  me  in  your  detestable  diary,  pray  write 
me  down  a  cosmopolitan." 

"  But  a  moment  ago  you  declared  yourself  a 
British  subject,"  said  the  brigand  in  surprise. 

"  I  am  one — ^when  I  need  a  nationality.     But 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       137 

by  habit  and  preference  I  count  myself  a  cosmo- 
politan, for  I  am  a  scientist,  and  as  such  I  belong  to 
the  world  and  the  world  to  me." 

**  Be  it  so."  Don  Q.  glanced  keenly  at  Japsley. 
"And  the  amount  of  your  income  ?  " 

"  Enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  after 
I  have  paid  for  the  upkeep  of  my  laboratory." 

"  The  amount  necessary  to  keep  body  and  soul 
together  varies  so  largely  with  the  individual  that 
I  must  beg  you  to  be  more  explicit." 

"  I  can  assure  you  that  at  this  moment  I  have  but 
a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  in  the  world." 

"  Then  we  assess  your  ransom  at  £500,  a  very 
low  sum,  believe  me,  for  one  to  whom  the  world 
belongs." 

"  This  is  rank  nonsense !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  senor,  it  is  excellent  business." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  your  prisoners  without 
exception  pay  ransom  ?  " 

"Alas!  there  have  been  exceptions." 

"And  then?" 

"  Let  us  not  think  of  alternatives,  which  are  in- 
variably deplorable — in  the  sierra  at  least.  We  will 
not  pursue  this  dismal  subject,  for  no  doubt  if  you 
write  to  your  consul  something  more  agreeable  will 
be  arranged.  Yet  in  passing  I  may  remark  that 
owing  to  the  observations  which  you  permitted 
yourself  to  make  at  the  beginning  of  our  interview, 
I  have  been  obliged  to  double  your  ransom,  other- 
wise it  would  have  stood  at  £250.    I  have  always 


138  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

endeavoured  to  meet  the  needs  of  my  captives,  but 
also  I  do  not  forget  how  far  they  have  endeavoured 
to  consider  mine." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  keeping  me  a  prisoner 
since  I  cannot  pay  you?  "  argued  Japsley. 

"An  acquaintance  with  humanity  has  taught  me, 
senor,  that  persons  under  your  circumstances  can 
command  a  good  deal  more  money  than  they  may 
at  first  imagine." 

Japsley  opened  his  mouth  for  further  protesta- 
tion, but,  catching  sight  of  the  expression  upon  the 
face  of  his  captor,  he  desisted,  and  began  the  impor- 
tant letter  which  Don  Q.  promised  should  be  carried 
to  its  destination  with  all  reasonable  speed. 

"And  now  that  by  the  blessing  of  San  Pedro  these 
formalities  are  happily  concluded,"  said  the  brigand, 
"  I  beg  that  for  the  next  three  weeks  you  will  look 
upon  me  in  the  light  of  your  host  whom  you  may 
command  in  all  things  save  one — the  small  matter 
of  your  departure  from  the  valley." 


CHAPTER     XVII 

HOW    DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    PROFESSOR    JAPSLEY 

(continued) 

Already  Jaspley  had  spent  many  days  in  the 
sierra,  and  during  every  day  he  imagined  himself 
to  be  collecting  significant  items  of  information  con- 
cerning his  captor's  character.  But  sight  does  not 
imply  insight,  and,  although  Japsley  was  a  man  of 
trained  intelligence,  his  intellect,  choked  with  an 
accumulation  of  facts  and  theories,  had  become 
dyspeptically  torpid  as  regarded  the  active  conduct 
of  life.  Of  the  intuitive  faculty,  he  had  perhaps  as 
little  as  can  possibly  be  born  with  the  son  of  woman. 

He  could  not,  however,  fail  to  realise  two  salient 
facts  about  Don  Q. — one  that  the  brigand  prided 
himself  on  being  a  man  of  his  word,  the  second  that 
he  was  quite  immutable.  Hence  Japsley  understood 
the  arrival  of  his  ransom  in  full  was  a  consummation 
devoutly  to  be  wished  for.  The  alternative — which 
Don  Q.  had  refused  to  put  into  words — haunted  the 
brain  of  the  scientist.  He  thrust  away  as  long  as 
he  could  the  horrible  speculations  which  burned 
there,  but  they  formed  the  background  of  every  wak- 
ing moment. 

The  two  men  lived  practically  tete-d-tete,  ate  their 
meals  together,  sat  through  long  hours  on  the  terrace 
or  by  the  fireside,  each  sensible  of  the  antagonistic 

139 


I40  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

mental  attitude  of  the  other.  Japsley's  conven- 
tional verdict  did  scant  justice  to  Don  Q.'s  character, 
and  of  this  the  brigand  was  well  aware.  He  could 
read  between  the  lines  of  his  companion's  talk.  He 
watched  him  pinning  human  units  into  classes  and 
types,  taking  little  account  of  their  individual  varia- 
tion— that  incalculable  factor  in  the  complex  system 
of  things.  The  man's  lack  of  elemental  human- 
ity repelled  Don  Q.  Propinquity  forced  the  growth 
of  their  mutual  dislike,  lack  of  occupation  fostered 
it  until  the  situation  became  strained  to  the  utmost, 
long  before  Japsley's  captivity  could  reasonably  be 
expected  to  terminate  in  the  arrival  of  his  ransom. 

But  one  outstanding  peculiarity  about  the  scientist 
lent  him  an  adventitious  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the 
brigand.  Early  in  the  course  of  their  acquaintance 
Don  Q.  became  aware,  partly  by  intuition,  partly  by 
deduction  from  stray  remarks,  that  Japsley  either 
was  not  what  he  had  given  himself  out  to  be,  or 
else  that  he  was  something  over  and  beyond  it. 
The  man  nursed  a  secret,  nursed  it  with  palpitations 
of  fear  lest  it  should  be  discovered.  It  is  impossible 
for  human  beings  to  live  at  such  close  quarters 
without  the  exchange  of  small  personal  experiences. 
Thus  Don  Q.  was  enabled  to  piece  together  details 
of  his  captive's  history,  but  at  a  given  point  he 
always  came  up  against  a  blank  wall,  and  he 
began  to  realise  that  this  flabby  talker  had  some 
hidden  aim  in  life. 

His    history    ran    much    as    follows.      From    a 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       141 

provincial  grammar  school  Japsley  had  gone  to 
Edinburgh  University,  armed  with  an  exhibition; 
by  way  of  Edinburgh,  and  carrying  a  reputation 
for  scholarship  and  ability,  he  had  made  a  success- 
ful invasion  of  Cambridge,  and  from  there  he  drifted 
— always  laden  with  scholarships — to  continental 
seats  of  learning.  Later  he  had  returned  heavily 
charged  with  the  wisdom  of  the  Teuton,  but  refus- 
ing a  chair  at  no  fewer  than  three  universities,  he 
had  devoted  himself  to  "  private  research."  So  far 
all  ran  clear,  but  here  came  the  block.  Of  what 
nature  was  this  "  private  research  "  that  had  tempted 
a  poor  man  to  reject  a  life  provision  in  order  to 
snatch  at  a  bare  subsistence  ?  Don  Q.  put  the  ques- 
tion. Japsley  replied  hurriedly  in  many  words,  none 
of  which,  however,  carried  amongst  them  any  atom 
of  real  information. 

In  return  he  demanded  of  Don  Q.  facts  about 
his  life  in  the  sierra.  To  these  he  listened  certainly, 
yet  he  made  it  clear  that  he  disbelieved  many  of 
his  host's  recitals. 

So  time  dragged  with  monotonous  foot, 
from  chocolate  in  the  early  morning,  till  the 
sun  swam  overhead  picking  out  the  scene  of 
the  brigands'  camp  of  weather-grey  bottle- 
shaped  chozas  crouched  under  the  gaunt  cliffs; 
through  the  drowse  of  midday  heat  with  its 
siesta  fading  into  the  mountain  afternoon,  and 
until  the  wild  pines  were  crashing  and  gambolling 
in  the  wind  of  evening. 


142  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

At  length,  in  a  lemon-coloured  dawn,  came  the 
answer  to  Japsley's  appeal  for  a  ransom.  At  the 
end  of  a  tortuous  course  of  travel  it  reached  the 
sentinel  on  watch  outside  the  ravine  by  the  hand  of 
a  goatherd,  who  had  had  it  from  a  charcoal-burner 
among  the  corkforests;  he,  in  turn,  had  received  it 
from  the  saddle-flap  of  a  smuggler,  who  had  been 
told  to  so  deliver  it  by  Don  Q.'s  representative  *•! 
the  white  city  by  the  sea.  Don  Q.'s  intelligence 
department  was  always  in  faultless  working  order, 
its  members  highly  paid  for  success,  remorselessly 
stricken  for  failure. 

The  letter  was  duly  brought  to  Japsley  in  the 
cleft  of  a  small  stick.  Five  hundred  pounds  is  not 
a  large  sum;  he  hoped  nervously  it  had  been 
gathered  for  him.    But  alas !  he  read : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — ^We  have  realised  all  moneys  in  our 
hands  belonging  to  you,  and  inclose  the  full  amount 
of  £449.  There  is  little  doubt  the  Government  would 
make  up  the  deficit,  but,  following  your  instructions, 
we  have  not  applied  for  their  help.  Assuring  you 
of  our  continued  desire  to  serve,"  etc.,  etc. 

Japsley  sat  for  some  minutes  with  the  letter  in 
his  fingers  plunged  in  apprehensive  thought,  while 
in  his  heart  he  cursed  the  parsimony  of  his  agent. 
If  the  firm  had  only  known,  in  a  little  time — a 
very,  very  little  time — he  could  have  repaid  them 
such*  a  loan  a  thousand  times  over.    They,  of  course, 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       143 

could  not  realise  what  manner  of  man  this  was  into 
whose  power  he  had  fallen. 

Presently  Don  Q.  appeared;  the  scientist  took  a 
last  look  at  him.  There  he  stood,  fragile  in  body, 
in  some  attitudes  almost  grotesque,  but  it  had  for 
some  time  past  been  borne  in  on  Japsley  that  this 
man  was  not  as  other  men,  and  he  trembled,  recol- 
lecting his  secret.  Oh,  desperate  game,  to  be  played 
out  in  the  lone  and  houseless  mountains! 

"  Have  you  any  communication  to  make  to  me?  " 
the  brigand  asked. 

Japsley's  lips  framed  an  inaudible  "  Yes." 

"  Your  ransom  and  your  fine  have,  I  trust, 
arrived?" 

"  My  ransom  in  full  and  the  bulk  of  the  fine." 
Japsley  added  the  exact  figures.  "  The  remainder 
I  bind  myself  to  send  to  you  within  a  month  of  my 
getting  into  touch  with  the  world  again." 

But  Don  Q.  shook  his  head.  "  What  warranty 
have  I  for  that,  senor?" 

"  I  will  give  you  any  bond  you  like  to  demand. 
I  must  return  to — to  civilisation  quickly;  immense 
issues  hang  on  my  return.  Otherwise  you,  amongst 
others,  will  be  a  loser." 

Japsley's  fingers  were  fluttering  in  his  beard. 

'*  I  pardon  the  suggestion,  which  is  entirely  out- 
side the  province  of  practical  politics  up  here  in  the 
sierra.  Believe  me,  senor,  if  I  were  to  permit  you, 
a  captive  fallen  short  in  your  ransom,  to  leave  me, 
my  credit  in  the  plains  would  suffer  irremediably. 


144  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Any  future  prisoner  might  imagine  himself  per- 
mitted to  take  similar  liberties.  No  man  has  ever 
existed  more  averse  from  cruelty  than  myself,  but  as 
ruthlessness  in  prosecuting  war  is  the  truest  mercy 
in  the  end  to  the  world,  so  in  this  case,  I  shall  be 
forced  to  make  an  example  of  you  as " 

"  Do  not  be  blind  to  your  own  interests,"  urged 
Japsley,  with  shaking  lips.  "  I  pledge  you  my  word 
of  honour,  no  one  will  ever  hear  that  I  failed  to 
collect  my  full  ransom." 

"Alas,  senor,  Her  British  Majesty's  consul  knows 
it — to  mention  one  individual  only." 

"  I  will  pay  the  outstanding  amount  twenty  times 
over ! "  The  moisture  gathered  coldly  on  Japsley's 
expanse  of  brow.  "  Send  another  messenger — I 
will  write  again — " 

Don  Q.  shook  his  head.  "  You  told  me  your 
whole  fortune  consisted  of  £200,  how  then  can  you 
be  certain  of  raising  more  than  £449 — which  is 
already  double  that  sum  ?  " 

"  You  will  dare  to  take  all  this  and  yet  kill  me?  " 
Japsley  cried. 

"By  no  means !  I  shall  return  this  amount  to 
your  representatives,  and  upon  you  I  shall  enforce 
the  penalty." 

Japsley  no  longer  looked  at  Don  Q.;  he  could 
not  meet  those  inexorable  eyes.  "  The  penalty — 
what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  the  drops  of  moisture  now 
running  down  his  blanched  face. 

Don  Q.  glanced  at  his  watch.    "It  is  already  five 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       145 

o'clock;  by  eight  to-night  you  will  be  informed  of 
my  decision." 

"  You  cannot  mean  that  you  will  murder  me?" 

"  Murder  is  an  ugly  word,  but  it  is  quite  certam 
that,  if  I  believe  it  to  be  expedient,  by  to-morrow 
you  will  have  ceased  to  live.'* 

Japsley  gazed  round  the  glen  of  the  Boca  de  Lobo 
with  the  seeking  eyes  of  a  hunted  creature.  The 
moment  was  upon  him  when  he  must  make  his  last 
bid  for  life,  when  he  must  part  with  the  secret  he 
had  hidden  with  so  much  of  jealous  care  for  years, 
that,  looking  back  upon  them,  seemed  countless  and 
all  alike  barren. 

It  was  within  an  hour  of  sundown,  and  the  blur 
of  smoke  from  many  fires  rose,  half  concealing  the 
groups  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  From  his  place 
on  the  terrace  of  rock  before  the  cave  he  watched  the 
preparing  of  the  men's  evening  meal — how  often 
the  sight  had  palled  upon  him  during  the  past  weeks ! 
But  now,  seen  for  the  last  time  through  the  narrow- 
ing gap  of  life,  it  acquired  a  strained  and  vivid  in- 
terest. The  wealth,  the  actual  concrete  gold,  he  had 
hungered  to  possess  might  never  be  his !  Through- 
out his  career  he  had  been  far  out  of  reach  of  poetical 
feeling,  but  now  there  came  tinkling  back  to  him 
across  the  years  Rossetti's  lines : 

"  Look  in  my  face ;  my  name  is  Might-have-been, 
Though  some  call  me  No-more,  Too-late,  Farewell." 

The  words  worked  upon  his  mood.    "  Might-have 
been — Too-late."    Was  this  to  be  the  epitome  of  his 
10 


146  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

own  career?  How  soon  his  brain,  that  now  held  a 
jewel  of  knowledge,  would  be  but  dead  matter  dis- 
solving to  decay!  All  the  long  years  of  research, 
poverty,  incessant  striving,  lost !  Yet  in  the  dusk  he 
hugged  his  secret  closer — closer.  To  it  and  to  its 
development  he  had  sacrificed  everything,  absolutely 
everything !  It  had  been  a  drain,  and  had  strained  all 
the  humanity  out  of  the  man,  it  had  absorbed  the 
vigour  out  of  his  manhood,  and  the  whole  world  only 
held  one  thing  as  dear — the  life,  existence,  continu- 
ance, of  the  vitalised  matter  known  as  Shruppill 
Japsley!  He  looked  across  at  Don  Q.  He  had 
long  hated  the  brigand,  but  never  with  such  inex- 
tinguishable a  hatred  as  when  he  felt  that  he  must 
presently  share  his  secret  with  this  ruthless  crea- 
ture or  die. 

"  Seiior,"  Japsley  said  at  last,  "  I  offer  you  £1000 
for  my  life." 

Don  Q.  looked  up  with  a  frown.  "  You  gave  me 
to  understand  from  the  outset  that  you  were  poor, 
very  poor." 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  poor,  but  I  am  also  a  man  of 
science,  thirty-eight  years  old,  and  since  I  touched 
my  twentieth  year  I  have  been  expending  my  very 
life  in — in  research." 

Don  Q.  listened,  his  eyebrows  rising  unseen  under 
the  shade  of  his  sombrero. 

"  Now  we  approach  the  point,"  he  thought,  but 
he  held  silence. 

Japsley  wetted  his  dry  lips.    It  was  like  the  pang 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       147 

of  death  to  tear  forth  this  treasure  of  his  heart  and 
put  it  into  words. 

"  Ten  years  ago  I  calculated  that  I  was  passing  the 
foremost  of  my  co-workers  and  venturing  on  un- 
known ground.  In  the  course  of  this  research  I 
came  upon  a  discovery  of  extraordinary  value." 

He  stopped,  absolutely  without  power  to  proceed. 
In  all  his  forecast  he  had  never  dreamed  of  parting 
with  his  knowledge  in  such  a  fashion  as  this ! 

Don  Q.  waited.    Then  at  last : 

"  Of  what  character  is  this  discovery  ?  " 

It  seemed  to  Japsley  as  if  with  physical  agony  he 
wrenched  the  answer  from  his  heart. 

"  It  is  an  agent  of  destruction,"  said  he. 

"Of  what  nature?" 

Japsley  spoke  fast  and  eagerly. 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  the  formula  of 
its  composition,  I  doubt  if  you  possess  the  requisite 
knowledge  to  render  it  intelligible  to  your  mind.  I 
need  only  say  that  ten  men — five  men —  armed  with 
my  secret  could  destroy  a  host." 

"And  you  will  sell  this  secret  to  the  English 
Government?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  I  understood  you  to  say  that  you  were  an  Eng- 
lishman." 

Japsley  laughed  with  some  relief.  He  felt  that 
Don  Q.  was  impressed. 

"  I  am  one — when  I  need  a  nationality.  But  I 
have  long  outgrown  such  parochial  distinctions.     I 


148  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

have  emerged  from  the  narrow  kennel  of  patriotism. 
I  am  become  a  cosmopolitan,  therefore  I  shall  sell 
my  discovery  to  the  highest  bidder." 

Don  Q.  looked  at  Japsley  very  intently.  "And 
with  what  motive  have  you  told  me  this  secret  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  spare  my  life  I  will  give  you  ten  per 
cent,  of  the  amount  I  receive  for  it — in  gold — gold 
if  you  will !  " 

"  Ten  per  cent.  ? "  repeated  Don  Q.  in  a  slow 
voice. 

"  It  will  be  an  immense  sum,"  urged  Japsley,  with 
wild  eagerness.  "  See,"  he  continued,  **  I  will  bide 
my  time,  I  will  wait  till  an  European  crisis  arises, 
then  I  shall  make  terms — ^hard  terms." 

"  Two  more  questions,"  said  Don  Q.  *'  First,  does 
this  agent  of  destruction  demand  a  brave  man  to 
handle  it?" 

''  No,  no,"  cried  Japsley.  "A  coward  need  not 
fear  to  use  it." 

"Ah !    And  where  do  you  carry  your  secret  ?  " 

Japsley  raised  his  hand  and  tapped  the  dome  of 
his  forehead. 

"  Here,"  said  he. 

Don  Q.  rose.  "  The  evening  grows  chilly,"  he 
remarked,  "  permit  me  to  suggest  a  return  to  the 
cave." 


CHAPTER     XVIII 

HOW    DON    Q.    DEALT    WITH    PROFESSOR    JAPSLEY 

{continued) 

Japsley  followed  him  without  a  word.  The 
brigand  threw  a  log  upon  the  fire,  and  sitting  down 
beside  it,  stared  at  the  little  leaping  flames.  The 
cave  grew  dark,  only  that  half-shadowed  motionless 
figure  like  some  huge  brooding  bird  remained  visible, 
and  in  Japsley's  mind,  as  he  gazed  upon  it,  rose  a 
terrible  doubt  as  to  the  sanity  of  this  man.  Could  it 
be  possible — could  it  be  conceivable  that  he  would 
refuse  such  an  offer? 

At  length  Japsley  with  his  shaking  heart  could 
endure  the  stillness  of  suspense  no  longer.  The  hour 
had  passed,  and  yet  Don  Q.  sat  on  motionless  by  the 
dying  fire.  The  scientist  rose  up  noiselessly  and 
walked  out  into  the  night.  A  heavy  shower  had  fol- 
lowed upon  sunset,  and  still  through  the  evening 
calm  he  could  hear  the  sad  drip  of  rain-laden  pine- 
trees.  He  began  to  wander  aimlessly  up  and  down 
the  terrace,  and,  probably  due  to  the  excitement  of 
the  past  few  hours,  his  mind  rose  upon  a  rare  and 
short-winged  flight  of  imagination.  A  picture  of  the 
future  painted  itself  before  him  there  on  the  gloomy 
diffside.  He  saw  himself  the  courted  of  kings  and 
ministers,  arbiter  of  life  and  death  to  nations. 
Wealth  was  within  his  grip;  all  his  life  he  had  toiled 

149 


I50  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

towards  that  goal  with  singleness  of  purpose  and  a 
heart  hardened  against  the  appeals  of  humanity. 
Now — now  he  was  about  to  grasp  his  reward !  High 
rose  his  heart  in  that  flight  of  fancy,  the  more  intoxi- 
cating because  so  rare  with  him.  And  upon  these 
followed  other  visions ;  cravings  arose  in  him  which 
had  long  lain  dormant,  ground  under  the  heel  of 
necessity,  sacrificed  to  the  one  great  passion  of  his 
life.  Lurid  were  the  dreams  that  came  to  him  on  the 
terrace,  inarticulate,  monstrous. 

He  was  startled  by  the  voice  of  Don  Q.,  for  a  note 
rang  in  it  that  cut  his  fancy  to  ribbons,  and  left  him 
once  more  face  to  face  with  fear. 

"  Some  hour  or  so  ago  you  were  good  enough 
to  make  me  an  offer,"  began  Don  Q.  "  I  have  taken 
time  to  consider  it,  sefior." 

"And  you  accept,  of  course  ?  "  Japsley  was  going 
on,  but  the  brigand  cut  him  short. 

"  No,  I  cannot." 

The  scientist  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"What!"  he  screamed. 

"  I  refuse  your  offer." 

"  But  what  do  you  want?  How  much?  You  are 
mad !  I  offered  you  ten  per  cent.  Think  of  it !  For 
they  will  pay  me  thousands  and  thousands  of 
pounds." 

"  I  think  it  likely  you  would  realise  a  quite  enor- 
mous sum,"  returned  Don  Q.,  coldly. 

"  If  you  believe  that,  why  do  you  refuse  ?  "  cried 
Japsley.     "  Come,  I  see  it.     I  see  it !    I  have  not 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       151 

offered  you  enough?  Name  your  price,  then! 
Speak!" 

Don  Q.  regarded  his  captive  with  a  baleful  eye. 

"  You  will  do  well  to  restrain  yourself,"  said  he, 
"  and  not  provoke  me  further  with  your  sordid  pro- 
posals. Should  you  persist,  I  shall  be  forced  to  deal 
with  you  at  once." 

But  Japsley  was  at  a  point  of  desperation.  "  I 
must  speak,"  he  gasped,  "  and  you  must  listen !  Hear 
me.  Lives  have  already  been  paid  for  this  knowl- 
edge. I  watched  my  two  old  sisters  starve  because  I 
could  not  give  them  help  without  cutting  off  supplies 
from  the  laboratory,  and  so  much — so  much  was 
needed  to  test  and  perfect  my  discovery.  Did  any 
man  ever  make  such  sacrifices  ?  And  now — now  at 
the  moment  when  I  could  live  again — when  existence 
offers  me  something  to  enjoy — you — " 

Japsley  met  Don  Q.'s  eye  and  fell  abruptly  silent. 
Then  the  brigand  spoke  slowly  with  the  air  of  one 
who  habitually  weighs  his  words. 

*'  You  have,"  he  said,  "  according  to  your  own 
showing,  spent  all  the  best  years  of  your  manhood — 
you  have  broken  the  ties  of  blood — in  perfecting  a 
weapon  which  you  intend  to  level  against  the  human 
race.  Had  you  done  this  with  any  high  and  lofty 
purpose,  such  as  the  cause  of  freedom  and  to  aid  the 
oppressed,  or  had  you  been  impelled  by  patriotism, 
your  action  might  appear  pardonable  in  some  eyes, 
perhaps  even  praiseworthy.  As  it  is,  I  fear  I  can 
find  no  palliation  of  your  conduct." 


152  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  What  ?  Do  you  count  for  nothing  the  long  and 
unremitting  devotion  of  my  life  to  the  interests 
of  science?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  the  interests  of  science  have  had  but 
little  to  do  with  the  incentive  to  your  labour.  You 
have  toiled  for  yourself!  For  money,  power,  or 
pleasure — I  know  not,  but  always  for  yourself.  And 
you  have  told  me  that  this  infernal  invention  of  yours 
will  make  a  coward  the  equal  of  a  brave  man.  It 
is  individuals  like  you  who  kill  out  the  manliness  of 
the  world.  But  Destiny  orders  all  things,  and,  senor, 
I  think  Destiny  has  sent  you  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  Nature  herself  will  permit 
you  to  buy  a  career  of  ease  at  the  cost  of  thousands 
of  lives." 

Don  Q.  clapped  his  hands,  and,  before  the  scientist 
could  speak  again,  Robledo  stood  at  the  entrance  to 
the  cave.  "  You  will  guard  this  captive,  Robledo, 
with  unceasing  care,  and  lead  him  when  the  dawn 
breaks  to  the  Sabio  Blanco.  It  is  there,  senor,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Japsley,  "  that  I  will  conclude  with 
you  this  matter." 

For  a  long  day  and  night,  and  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  day  following,  the  party  of  three,  Robledo, 
Caspar,  and  their  prisoner,  wended  their  way  up- 
wards. At  first  Japsley  travelled  on  mule-back,  later 
on  foot,  but  always  a  dead  silence.  He  endeavoured 
to  press  his  escort  with  anxious  questions,  then  with 
promises,  but  he  spoke  to  deaf  ears.     Two  words 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       153 

only  fell  from  the  grim  lips  of  Caspar,  as  with  a  nod 
he  indicated  a  mountain  ahead. 

'*  Sabio  Blanco,"  he  said,  and  fell  back  into  dumb- 
ness. 

Gradually  with  every  stage  of  the  journey  the 
marvellous  white  peaks  rose  higher  and  higher  into 
the  sky.  The  second  evening  found  them  on  the 
high  slopes  below  this  towering  summit.  They 
had  come  by  a  thousand  turnings,  they  had  leaped 
rifts  which  caused  the  heart  of  Japsley  to  sicken 
even  in  the  retrospect,  breakneck  gorges  lay  behind 
them,  but  at  length,  as  the  sun  wheeled  slowly  to  the 
west,  Japsley  descried,  not  far  away  on  the  bare 
shoulder  of  the  mountain,  a  black  figure  which  he 
recognised.  The  men  quickened  their  pace,  and 
shortly  left  their  prisoner  at  the  side  of  Don  Q. 

The  air  was  very  still.  Japsley,  looking  down, 
saw  the  forests  through  which  he  had  mounted 
showing  as  a  mere  blue  smear  far  below  his  feet; 
above  him  hung  the  beetling  white  brows  of  Sabio 
Blanco ;  and  all  at  once  the  pitiless  sense  of  distance, 
of  remoteness,  seemed  to  suffocate  him.  He  turned 
to  Don  Q.  with  a  sudden,  dreadful  shriek. 

"  You  have  brought  me  here  to  kill  me !  Yon  are 
going  to  kill  me  alone  in  this  terrible  place !  **  he 
sobbed. 

"  No,  seiior,  I  shall  not  kill  you," — the  brigand 
paused, — "  though  I  do  not  deny  the  temptation  to 
do  so  has  been  very  strong.  But  I  have  overcome 
it,"     Don  Q.  ended  with  a  sigh. 


154  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  You  are  going  to  release  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  reconcile  it  with  my  conscience  to  do 
that  either.  If  I  permit  you  to  depart,  you  carry 
your  secret  with  you,  and — " 

"  Then  what — what — what — ?  "  Japsley's  voice 
rose  thin  and  vibrant. 

Don  Q.  raised  his  hand.  "  I  have  said  that  Des- 
tiny brought  you  to  me,  for  a  purpose,  no  doubt. 
Here  is  your  £449.  I  want  none  of  it.  This  stu- 
pendous secret  of  yours  raises  you  above  my  juris- 
diction. It  is  an  issue  too  large  for  me.  Therefore 
I  have  brought  you  here,  and  here  I  will  leave  you 
in  the  hands  of  the  old  Sabio  Blanco," — ^he  lifted  his 
hand  higher  and  pointed  at  the  huge  snow-clad  sum- 
mit far  above, — "  the  Wise  White  One,  who  has 
watched  generations  of  pigmies  like  you  and  me 
pass  through  their  day  on  earth." 

"  Go  on.    What  are  you  about  to  do  with  me?  " 

"  Only  to  leave  you.  See  below,  where  a  bridle- 
path runs;  it  is  the  way  to  the  plains.  To-morrow 
you  will  be  free  to  reach  them — if  you  can.  To- 
morrow— but  not  before.  I  shall  leave  a  rifleman 
to  assure  me  that  you  do  not  move  sooner." 

"  But  I  have  no  guide." 

"  Exactly.  So  the  affair  passes  out  of  my  hands 
into  those  of  Destiny.    Con  Dios,  seiior." 

Japsley  watched  the  little  line  of  three  men,  mov- 
ing away.  At  intervals  he  caught  sight  of  them 
here  and  there  in  the  windings  of  the  mountains, 
till  night  fell;  then  he  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket 


DON  Q.  AND  PROF.  JAPSLEY       155 

and  laughed  with  a  new-born  contempt,  for  he  felt 
sure  that  with  sunrise  to-morrow  he  could  find  his 
way  to  safety.  The  weather  was  clear,  and  had  he 
not  some  mild  experience  of  climbing  in  Switzer- 
land? 

Early  the  next  morning  Don  Q.  stood  at  the  door 
of  his  little  tent  in  a  neighbouring  valley,  and  looked 
upwards.  The  weather  had  changed,  and  the  great 
white  head  of  Sabio  Blanco  was  shrouded  about 
with  mist.  Somewhere  in  the  heart  of  that  mist  he 
knew  Japsley  must  be  struggling  with  a  Higher 
Power  than  his  own. 

As  to  the  outcome  of  that  struggle  some  say 
Japsley  won  to  the  plains  in  safety,  and  in  his  peril 
made  a  vow  that  if  he  were  saved  alive,  he  in  his 
turn  would  have  mercy  on  the  children  of  men.  A 
second  rumor  has  it  that  somewhere  in  a  chasm  of 
the  snows  Japsley  and  his  unrighteous  secret  keep 
each  other  cold  and  eternal  company.  Not  Don  Q. 
nor  any  other  man  knows  with  which  tale  lies 
truth. 


CHAPTER     XIX 

HOW    DON    Q.    KEPT    CHRISTMAS 

The  fact  that  Professor  Japsley  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Don  Q.  did  not  transpire  beyond  the 
countryside  and  never  reached  the  outer  world,  but 
that  affair  was  followed  by  one  which  for  many 
reasons  gained  a  vast  amount  of  notoriety. 

There  are,  although  the  matter  is  not  widely 
known,  a  number  of  excellent  shootings  to  be  rented 
in  Spain,  more  especially  about  the  foothills  of  the 
Cordillera.  At  the  period  of  this  history  an  English- 
man had  become  for  the  third  time  tenant  of  one  of 
the  largest  of  these,  called  Lucharno. 

Richard  Warriswold  was  a  wealthy  squire  of 
some  renown.  A  great  many  countries  had  echoed 
the  crack  of  his  rifle,  and  he  was  well  known  as  one 
of  the  finest  shots  who  had  ever  wandered  out  from 
the  Islands  of  the  Northern  Seas.  He  was  the  type  of 
man  always  designated  by  his  full  name,  an  insistive, 
masterful  personality  for  whom  "  Dick  "  would  have 
been  an  obvious  misnomer,  but  who  answered  well 
enough  to  solid  Richard.  A  good  friend  and  an 
ill  enemy,  he  marched  through  life  giving  much 
offence  by  his  silent  airs  of  superiority — with  him 
a  congenital  attitude  and  entirely  free  from  any 
suspicion  of  posing.  This  was  the  individual  who 
with  his  daughter  and  a  friend  arrived  early  in 

156 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    157 

December  at  the  Andalucian  shooting-lcKige  under 
the  mountains. 

"  To-day,  Ned,"  said  Warriswold,  a  day  or  two 
later,  "  I  fired  a  shot  at  bigger  game  than  any  I 
have  hitherto  pursued." 

The  speaker,  a  tall  man  with  a  close  black  beard, 
flung  himself  down  upon  a  couch  beside  the  blazing 
logs  on  the  hearth.  Into  the  face  of  his  companion 
flashed  a  look  of  concern. 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Ned  Folwarth. 
"  Larger  game  than  you  have  shot  in  Asia  and 
Africa?" 

Warriswold  glanced  quickly  at  his  friend.  "  Man 
is  the  biggest  game  on  earth,"  said  he. 

"You  have  shot  a  man?"  cried  Folwarth,  who 
knew  enough  of  his  companion's  skill  to  realise 
that  with  this  man  to  fire  a  shot  was  almost 
synonymous  with  to  kill. 

"  No,  unluckily  I  missed  him.     He  got  away." 

"  But  why,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  you  fire  at 
him?" 

"  I  found  him  in  my  preserves.  It  was  one  of 
Don  Q.'s  scoundrels." 

Folwarth  whistled.  "Ah,  Don  Q.'s?  Richard, 
was  it  wise?  " 

More  than  a  week  after  their  arrival  Warris- 
wold came  home  from  the  day's  hunting  with  a 
spark  smouldering  in  his  eye.  He  said  nothing 
until  dinner  was  over  and  Violet  had  gone  out  to 
stroll   up   and  down   the  patio   in  the  moonlight. 


IS8  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Then  Folwarth  inquired  of  the  sport.  He  was 
several  years  the  junior  of  his  host,  but  the  older 
man  had  been  his  Hfe-long  friend,  and  it  was  the 
fauh  of  neither  that  a  stronger  tie  did  not  bind 
them  together.  But  Violet  Warriswold  held  con- 
sistently aloof.  She  was  a  singularly  charming 
girl,  devoted  to  her  father,  but  she  had  discerned 
few  of  Folwarth's  good  qualities,  and  was  very 
sure,  in  her  own  mind,  that  he  was  far  indeed  below 
the  heroic  standard  she  had  conjured  up  as  fitting 
for  the  man  she  might  love  in  the  future. 

"  Wise  ?  Why  not  ?  "  returned  Warriswold, 
obstinately. 

"  They  say  Don  Q.  has  a  long  memory,  and 
mostly  repays  in  kind." 

"  What  of  that  ?  Would  you  not  have  done  the 
same  in  my  place  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  should  let  sleeping  dogs  lie,"  replied  Fol- 
warth, with  decision.  '*  Don  Q.  has  not  bothered 
you,  although  you  have  been  at  Lucharno  for  two 
seasons  already." 

"  Don't  look  so  upset,  Ned.  To  tell  you  the 
truth  " — a  short  laugh  came  from  Warriswold — 
"  I  believe  that  it  was  chiefly  because  of  Don  Q. 
that  I  took  this  place  again.  The  very  thought 
of  catching  him  stimulates  me !  " 

"  Why  not  leave  the  Spaniards  to  catch  their  own 
criminals  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Warriswold  in  an  altered  voice, 
"  I  have  learned  that  certain  duties  go  with  certain 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    159 

positions ;  one  cannot  shirk  them.  If  people  of  our 
standing  do  not  aid  Government,  we  do  wrong." 

"  That  sounds  very  well,"  replied  Folwarth  in 
his  quiet  way,  "  but  Don  Q.  is  the  last  man  one 
can  expect  to  offend  with  impunity.  You  have 
harried  his  men  at  every  possible  occasion  this  year. 
And  now,  take  my  word  for  it,  your  bullet  will 
come  back  to  you  one  of  these  fine  nights." 

"  So  I  expect." 

"And  Violet,"  said  Folwarth— "  what  about 
her?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  why  don't  you  marry  her  and 
take  her  away  into  safety?  Here  you  have  plenty 
of  time  to  pay  your  court,  yet  you  seem  to  make 
no  running." 

"  No,  I  make  no  progress,"  said  Folwarth,  with 
the  slight  wistful  smile  that  occasionally  touched 
his  lips.  "  I  have,  indeed,  only  been  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  tell  you  that  I  give  it  up.  I  see  very 
plainly   that   a   studious,   middle-aged   fellow   like 

myself,  who  neither  shoots  nor in  fact,  I  fall 

short  all  round  of  the  outdoor,  upstanding  lover 
who  will  one  day  be  so  fortunate  as  to  become 
Violet's  husband." 

Warriswold  turned  on  him. 

"Middle-aged?  Nonsense — at  thirty-five!  Be- 
sides, I'd  like  to  know  who  is  this  upstanding 
lover?" 

"  Only  the  ideal  lover  of  a  young  girl's  fancy ; 
when  he  materialises,  he  will,  alas!  materialise  into 


i6o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

a  very  different  individual  from  Ned  Folwarth,  I 
am  afraid !  " 

"  Why,  you  have  Hked  her  since  she  was  in  short 
frocks!    And  now  you  are  going  to  desert  us?  " 

*'  Not  desert  you/'  said  Folwarth,  smiling  again. 
"  But  Violet  knows  my  hopes,  and  my  presence 
only — only  worries  her.  Richard,  I  cannot  stay !  " 
he  burst  out,  with  unwonted  self-betrayal. 

Warriswold  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 
"  Well,  you  can't  go  either  until  this  business  of 
Don  Q.'s  is  over.  You  must  be  here  to  look  after 
Violet,  in  case  of  anything  happening." 

"At  any  rate,  take  precautions.  Get  the  Govern- 
ment to  send  you  a  company  of  carbineers.  You 
will  need  them,  believe  me." 

"  I'll  see  to  it.  Come,  let  us  join  Violet.  But, 
of  course,  not  a  word  to  her  of  this.  Not,  mind 
you,  that  she  would  be  nervous  for  herself,"  he 
added,  with  a  deep  pride  in  his  daughter,  "but  it 
might  alarm  her  if  I  were  late  coming  in  any 
evening." 

Violet  crossed  the  patio  to  meet  them.  She 
looked  very  lovely  in  the  moonlight,  her  face  framed 
in  the  soft  lace  she  had  thrown  about  her  head. 
She  slipped  her  hand  in  her  father's  arm.  "  Coming 
for  a  turn?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  xny  dear.  I  leave  that  to  you  energetic 
young  people.  Here's  Folwarth  ready  to  walk  with 
you  till  the  moon  drops  out  of  the  sky." 

Violet  laughed.     "  How  amiable  of  him !     But 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    i6i 

I  won't  try  him  so  far !  This  crisp  cold  air  makes 
me   sleepy.      Good-night !  " 

Warriswold  stood  with  his  hands  thrust  down 
deep  in  his  pockets  looking  after  her,  and  shook 
his  head  dismally.  "  Looks  infernally  bad  that — for 
you,  Ned,"  he  admitted.    '1  can  only  say — " 

"  She  deserves  a  better  man,  Richard.  Let's 
turn  in,  too." 


11 


CHAPTER     XX 

HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS — (continued) 

About  the  same  hour  away  in  the  sierra  a  young 
mountaineer  was  urging  his  mule  through  the 
gorges  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  His  face  was 
very  colourless,  and  a  bandage  round  his  left  arm 
told  that  Warriswold's  bullet  had  not  gone  so  far 
astray  as  he  who  sent  it  upon  its  way  imagined. 
The  wound  although  not  dangerous  was  undoubt- 
edly painful,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  had  any  but 
Don  Q.  held  rule  in  the  sierra,  the  man  who  was 
nicknamed  Grulla  (the  crane)  would  have  carried 
on  the  battle,  which  Warriswold's  shot  had  opened, 
to  a  definite  result.  But  it  was  ever  the  great  brig- 
and's custom  to  inforce  upon  his  followers,  by 
methods  peculiar  to  himself,  the  necessity  of  com- 
mitting no  overt  act  of  this  kind  without  his  sanc- 
tion or  direct  command.  Of  the  tenant  of  Luchamo 
he  had  once  said: 

"  These  Englishmen  bring  good  gold  to  the  coun- 
try. Let  the  Sefior  Warriswold  enjoy  himself.  If 
later  I  should  need  him,  I  will  send  for  him." 

So  it  came  that  Grulla  made  his  way  painfully 
into  the  higher  gorges  until  he  reached  the  Boca 
de  Lobo,  where  at  the  fires  Garpar  bound  up  his 
wound  before  hurrying  him  to  the  cave  of 
DonQ. 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    163 

He  went  eagerly,  confident  of  the  revenge  his 
lord  would  exact  from  El  Ingles.  He  found  Don  Q. 
huddled  in  his  cloak  as  usual,  and  apparently  en- 
grossed in  examining  a  painting  recently  looted  by 
the  band.  It  was  the  work  of  a  Spanish  artist,  and 
its  subject  a  brigand  of  the  sierra;  but  Don  Q. 
found  reason  to  take  serious  exception  to  many 
details  in  the  picture,  more  particularly  to  the 
expression  on  the  brigand's  face,  which  he  consid- 
ered vulgar.  So  that  it  was  in  a  very  dark  silence 
indeed  that  he  received  his  adherent. 

For  a  protracted  half  hour  no  word  was  spoken, 
while  Grulla  waited  rigid  and  erect,  but  bursting 
with  his  news.  Suddenly  his  lord  raised  a  sinister 
eyelid  upon  him. 

"  Why  is  it  that  your  face  is  of  the  colour  of  tal- 
low ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  I  have  been  wounded,  lord." 

Don  Q.  turned  to  look  at  the  bandaged  shoulder. 

"Who  fired  the  shot?" 

"  El  Ingles,"  answered  Grulla,  for  so  was  War- 
riswold  called  in  the  foothills. 

The  frown  gathered  more  menacingly  about  Don 
Q.'s  eyes,  though  his  voice  remained  as  soft  as  ever. 
"  You  will  relate  to  me,"  he  said,  "  exactly  what 
occurred." 

So  Grulla  broke  fiercely  away  upon  his  narrative. 
"  Yesterday,  lord,  it  was  my  turn  to  watch  in  the 
woods  of  El  Ingles,  according  to  the  order  of  my 
lord.    As  I  walked  through  the  pines  I  was  over- 


i64  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

taken  by  a  great  hunger,  for  it  was  ten  hours  since 
I  had  drunk  my  chocolate  with  Bartolo  before  day- 
break in  the  upper  ravine.  Thus  it  came  that  I  hid 
in  the  heart  of  a  thicket  to  eat  the  black  bread  and 
the  garlic  which  I  took  with  me.  Thereafter,  lord, 
I  rested  a  while  till  I  was  roused  by  the  noise  and 
cry  of  beaters  behind  me,  and  in  front  of  me  a  shot 
was  fired  in  the  heart  of  the  valley.  Then,  lord, 
I  crept  out  of  the  thicket  and  was  already  running 
along  the  path  that  leads  over  the  Ridge  of  Little 
Pines,  when  El  Ingles  leaped  up  from  behind  a 
boulder  where  he  had  been  waiting  for  the  animals 
which  the  beaters  should  rouse,  and  he  pointed  his 
rifle  at  me.  But  the  woodguard  that  was  with  him 
cried  out  that  he  must  not  shoot  for  I  was  of  my 
lord's  following.  Yet  no  sooner  did  El  Ingles  hear 
these  words  than  he  spoke  against  my  lord,  cursing 
him  in  a  loud  voice,  and  fired  thrice  at  me  as  I  ran 
over  the  hills;  the  second  of  these  shots  passed 
through  the  flesh  of  my  shoulder,  injuring  no  bone, 
for  which  I  give  thanks  to  San — " 

Don  Q.  threw  up  his  hand  for  silence.  Resting 
his  chin  between  thumb  and  forefinger  he  surveyed 
Grulla  coldly. 

"  Imbecile !  How  long  have  you  been  in  the 
mountains?  " 

Gulla*s  breath  caught  in  his  throat.  "  Five 
years,  lord." 

"And  you  permit  an  Englishman  to  discover 
you  asleep  in  the  woods  ? " 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    165 

"  The  Englishman  is  a  very  great  hunter,  lord," 
whined  Grulla,  apologetically. 

The  black  look  bent  on  him  deepened.  "  You 
are  ill-named,  Grulla,  for  the  crane  is  a  wary  bird," 
said  Don  Q.  with  slow  scorn,  "  rather  a  bustard, 
for  though  the  bustard  be  also  wary,  he  is,  as  you 
are,  slow  and  heavy  to  rise  in  flight!  Your 
ineptitude  is  unthinkable!  Go!  Your  punishment 
awaits  you." 

The  man  had  turned  away  when  Don  Q.  called 
him  back. 

"I  am  waiting  for  you  to  repeat  to  me  with  great 
care  and  exactness  the  words  El  Ingles  cried  out 
before  he  fired  at  you." 

Twice  Grulla  essayed  to  speak,  but  such  was  his 
fear  of  his  pale  cloaked  master  that  his  voice  failed 
him. 

"  You  will  delay  no  longer  or  I  shall  forget  my 
patience  and  deal  with  you  as  you  deserve.  What 
said  El  Ingles  and  the  woodguard  who  was  with 
him?" 

At  this  threat  Grulla  found  speech: 

**As  I  ran  over  the  ridge  the  woodguard  shouted : 
'  Do  not  shoot  for  the  sake  of  all  the  saints !  This 
man  is  one  who  serves  the  great  lord  of  the  sierra.' 
But  El  Ingles  fired,  crying  out,  *  I  would  it  were 
Don  Q.,  the  vulture  himself!  but  this,  and  this,  for 
his  youngling ! '  and  he  fired  thrice  at  me,  as  I  have 
told  my  lord.  Whereat  Teo,  the  woodguard,  was 
greatly  troubled,  and  sent  a  message  praying  for- 


L 


i66  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

giveness  of  my  lord  since  the  fault  was  none  of 
his." 

It  has  been  explained  that  against  the  Guardias 
Civiles  Don  Q.  harboured  no  great  amount  of 
rancour.  Their  efforts  to  capture  him  lay  in  the 
line  of  duty,  and  their  plans  were,  he  conceived, 
even  sometimes  creditable  to  their  intelligence.  But 
against  the  man  who,  apart  from  duty,  hunted  him 
or  the  members  of  his  band  in  the  spirit  of  sport 
or  of  adventure,  it  would  have  been  impossible 
and  unnatural  that  the  brigand  should  not  have 
accumulated  a  monstrous  resentment. 

As  he  sat  far  into  the  night  brooding  over  his 
fire,  Don  Q.  laid  plans  to  rid  himself  of  his  foe, 
who  had  now  added  unforgivable  personal  insult 
to  the  gratuitous  and  harassing  enmity  of  the  past 
two  years. 

It  must  be  understood  that  Christmas  was  close 
at  hand,  when  Warriswold  applied  for  and  was 
granted  a  guard  of  some  five-and-twenty  carbineers, 
whose  protection  he  did  not  for  a  moment  permit 
himself  to  believe  he  or  his  household  needed.  And 
in  this  it  seemed  that  Warriswold  was  right,  for  the 
days  passed  uneventfully,  the  Noche  Buena,  Christ- 
mas Eve,  had  been  a  gay  and  busy  time  in  the 
servants'  quarters — new  handkerchiefs  for  the 
women,  tambourines  and  zambombas  for  the  chil- 
dren, and  quantities  of  turron,  the  popular  Spanish 
sweetmeats,  for  everybody,  had  been  provided  by 
Violet,  and  so  Pasqua  dawned  bright  and  sunny 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    167 

with  no  cloud  to  obscure  the  sky.  During  the  after- 
noon the  two  Englishmen  went  for  a  stroll  outside 
the  pine  woods,  returning  before  dusk  to  make 
ready  for  the  Christmas  dinner,  at  which  the  young 
lieutenant  of  the  carbineers  had  been  invited  to  join 
them. 

There  was,  it  must  be  owned,  nearly  always  some 
element  of  the  fantastic  in  the  projects  of  Don  Q., 
and  seldom  was  that  quality  more  clearly  shown 
than  upon  the  occasion  about  to  be  narrated.  The 
dreadful  simplicity  of  the  thing  did  not  strike  War- 
riswold  till  later.  Dinner  was  already  well  on  its 
way,  the  next  item  of  the  menu  happened  to  be  the 
Spanish  dish  of  the  season,  pavo  trafada,  truffled 
turkey,  when  a  servant  whispered  a  word  in  the 
lieutenant's  ear. 

Uttering  a  word  of  excuse,  he  rose  and  left  the 
room,  and  nobody  noticed  the  dish  with  a  huge 
cover  which  was  placed  before  the  host.  Warris- 
wold,  still  carrying  on  his  talk,  moved  his  hands  to 
take  up  carving-knife  and  fork,  and  at  that  moment 
the  cover  was  lifted. 

The  contents  of  the  dish  drew  all  eyes.  A  little 
cry  from  Violet,  a  gasp  from  Folwarth,  a  dark 
look  and  a  throwing  forward  of  his  heavy  chin 
from  the  more  formidable  Warriswold.  For  there, 
surrounded  by  dainty  dressing  and  sprigs  of  scented 
bush  gathered  from  the  campo,  lay  not  the  turkey, 
stuffed,  succulent,  and  dripping  with  gravy,  but  a 
large    feathered    vulture    of    the    family    of    the 


i68  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Quebranta  htiesos,  from  which  no  less  a  person  than 
Don  Q.  had  taken  his  cognomen. 

Warriswold  thrust  back  his  chair. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  It  means,"  said  a  soft  voice,  "  that  you  two 
caballeros  will  lock  your  hands  above  your  heads. 
As  to  you,  senora,  I  pray  you  to  pardon  me  for  the 
alarm  I  have  been  obliged  to  occasion  you.  No, 
senores !  "  Don  Q.  added  sharply,  "  not  a  movement, 
not  a  sound,  or  I  shall  be  forced  to  do  violence 
both,  I  assure  you,  to  my  own  feelings  and  I  fear  to 
the  bodies  of  you  gentlemen." 

Warriswold  stared  round  the  room;  the  place  of 
his  servants  had  been  taken  by  a  villainous-looking 
half-dozen  of  Don  Q.'s  followers. 

"  Your  intelligence  has,  I  see,  fathomed  my  little 
ruse,"  said  Don  Q.  with  his  deadly  courtesy. 
"  Three  of  your  servants,  and  the  Senor  Teniente, 
are  lying  bound  in  your  cellar.  The  remainder  are 
very  convivial  in  your  kitchen.  The  carbineers  are 
also  enjoying  themselves  as  men  should  upon 
Christmas  Day.  It  is  true  their  quarters  are  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  house,  but  I  do  not  see  how 
they  can  help  you,  for  the  bushes  which  lie  between 
them  and  your  door  hold  as  many  of  my  own  men, 
each  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand." 

"  We  have  been  betrayed !  "  Warriswold  shouted 
with  intent,  at  the  pitch  of  his  voice. 

"  I  pray  you  to  speak  more  softly,"  urged  Don 
Q.     "  If  you  raise  your  voice  in  this  manner,  and 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    169 

any  come  to  your  assistance,  then  for  you  and  others 
this  pretty  little  comedy  will  become  a  tragedy." 

Warriswold  stifled  the  answer  on  his  lips  as  his 
glance  fell  on  Violet. 

"  Your  diabolical  cunning  has  placed  you  in  a 
position  to  make  terms,"  he  said  briefly.  "  What 
are  they  ?  " 

"  Terms  is  neither  an  apt  word  nor  in  this  case  the 
correct  one.  My  orders  are  that  you,  Sefior  Warris- 
wold, with  your  friend,  will  travel  with  me  into  the 
mountains,  where  I  foresee  we  shall  find  ample  leisure 
to  discuss  the  ethics  of  certain  acts  you  have  seen 
fit  to  commit." 

Violet  rose  impulsively.  "  Father,  you  must  not 
go! 

"  Hush,  my  dear ;  your  part  will  be  to  stay  here 
ready  to  carry  out  any  instructions  I  may  send 
you,"  interrupted  Warriswold.  "  Do  not  be  in  the 
least  alarmed  about  me.  And  now,  sefior,  I  am  at 
your  service." 

Five  minutes  later,  the  brigands  with  their  two 
prisoners  riding  in  the  centre  had  gained  the  shelter 
of  the  woods,  and  far  on  the  wind  was  borne  to 
them  the  sounds  of  laughter  from  the  quarters  of 
the  carbineers,  the  thrum  of  a  guitar,  and  the  song 
of  one  of  their  number  accompanied  by  the  beating 
of  knife-hilts  on  the  table  which  acclaimed  the  efforts 
of  the  singer  at  their  revel. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS — (continued) 

The  two  Englishmen  were  borne  into  the  moun- 
tains. The  cold  of  the  gorges  struck  at  them  with 
palpable  blows,  for  both  still  wore  only  the  evening 
dress  in  which  they  had  been  captured.  Never  per- 
haps had  those  forests  and  ravines  beheld  a  more 
incongruous  procession  than  that  headed  by  these 
two  men  with  smudged  shirt  fronts  and  dishevelled 
hair;  their  legs  were  tied  round  the  barrel  of  their 
horses,  while  the  animals  were  urged  onwards  by 
fierce  mountaineers,  who  nursed  in  their  hearts  a 
savage  ill-will  against  the  captives.  Last  of  all 
rode  Don  Q.,  his  head  sunk  upon  his  chest,  and  a 
rankling  bitterness  against  Warriswold  filling  all 
the  courses  of  his  thoughts. 

All  night  they  rode,  and  far  into  the  day  beyond 
it,  towards  the  darker  defiles  of  the  sierra.  At  first 
they  passed  beneath  cork-oaks  and  ilex;  then  the 
cork  forest  gave  place  to  scattering  pines,  and  pines 
to  stunted  brushwood,  and  finally  the  long  line  of 
men  wound  through  bare  and  boulder-strewn 
ravines,  until  as  the  sun  set,  they  entered  once  more 
a  grove  of  pines,  where  the  prisoners  were  thrust 
into  a  shelter  of  branches  to  sleep. 

To  follow  the  conversation  which  took  place  in 
the  interior  of  their  hut  would  not  forward  the 

170 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    171 

reader  along  the  line  of  this  history.  But  Warris- 
wold  at  length  understood  that  in  the  pale  and 
fragile  brigand  he  was  about  to  encounter  a  terrible 
antagonist.  Next  morning,  as  the  sun  climbed  out 
above  the  shoulders  of  the  ridge,  Warriswold  and 
Folwarth,  still  in  bonds,  were  dragged  out  to 
judgment. 

The  camp  of  Don  Q.  had  been  pitched  upon  a  floor 
of  pine-needles,  and  he  himself,  still  wearing  the 
same  immutable  expression,  was  seated  on  a  fallen 
tree.     He  opened  the  proceedings. 

"  Ten  days  ago,"  began  the  brigand,  without 
preamble,  "  you,  Senor  Warriswold,  fired  three 
shots  at  this  man — stand  forth,  Grulla — who  is  one 
of  my  people.    Is  that  so?  " 

"  I  deny  your  right  to  ask  these  questions,"  re- 
plied Warriswold. 

Don  Q.  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As 
you  will.  If  you  prefer  it  I  will  omit  the  trial  and 
pass  on  to  the  sentence." 

Warriswold  was  master  of  himself,  and  meant, 
if  it  were  possible,  to  be  master  of  the  situation 
also.    Yet  it  was  one  that  required  handling. 

"  I  bow  to  your  superior  force,"  he  said.  "  Yes, 
I  shot  at  that  man." 

"Why?" 

Warriswold  hesitated. 

"  Had  he  done  you  any  harm  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  was  found  in  my  preserves.  I, 
however,     see    no    reason,"     Warriswold     added 


172  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

haughtily,  "  to  hide  the  truth  that  I  fired  upon  him, 
because  I  was  told  he  was  a  brigand,  and  one  of 
your  following." 

Don  Q.'s  slender  hand  clutched  at  the  folds  of 
his  cloak. 

"  Seiior,  for  two  years  you  have  lived  within  my 
reach.  Have  I  molested  you?  You  have  been 
absolutely  in  my  power;  you  owe  to  me  more  than 
you  think.  Few  poachers  have  been  upon  the 
Luchamo  estate  since  your  coming,  because  I  for- 
bade them  to  go  there.  Yet  that  is  nothing.  You 
have  consistently  taken  part  against  me,  and  aided 
those  whose  duty  it  is,  perhaps,  to  harass  me.  That 
also  is  nothing.  But  what  excuse  can  you  give  for 
your  last  insult  ?  You  have  made  it  known  publicly 
that  you  desired  to  hunt  me — that  you  desired  to 
kill  me !    Why  have  you  done  this  ?  " 

"  Because  I  conceived  it  to  be  my  duty." 

"  I  am  listening.  Go  on,  say  anything  that  may 
cause  me  to  regard  your  action  in  a  less  unworthy 
light." 

"  You  are  outside  the  law,"  said  Warriswold  in 
his  most  insistive  manner.  "  Now  I,  through  all 
my  wanderings  in  wild  places,  have  striven  to  be 
upon  the  side  of  the  law." 

"  Pardon  me,  sefior,"  said  Don  Q.,  "  you  do  not 
give  your  chief  reason  for  this  affair.  You  talk 
glibly  of  the  law,  but  you  omit  the  passion  for  sport 
which  runs  so  thirstily  in  your  blood.  I  very  much 
fear  you  tried  to  hunt  me  and  my  people  in  the  same 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    173 

spirit  in  which,  as  a  big-game  hunter,  you  have 
hunted  down  your  quarry.  You  would  have  been 
proud  to  kill  me,  you  would  have  boasted  and  told 
the  story  how  you  killed  the  famous  Spanish 
brigand !  Yes,  you  would  have  told  that  story  over 
the  wine  and  the  walnuts.  Well,  senor,  I  will  not 
rob  the  English  of  that  story  altogether,  but  it  shall 
have  another  ending,  one  in  which  your  friends  will 
take  a  melancholy  interest." 

Warriswold  stood  silent,  impressed  against  his 
will.  And  then  the  brigand  spoke  again.  "  You, 
Seiior  Folwarth,  I  regard  as  an  ordinary  captive. 
You  are  a  wealthy  man,  and  I  assess  your  ransom  at 
£10,000." 

"And  mine?  "  Warriswold  asked. 

"  For  you  I  will  accept  no  ransom,  but  the  foot- 
hills and  the  plains  shall  hear  how  I  deal  with  those 
who  follow  men  as  wolves  upon  the  mountains." 

"  I  will  pay  double,  ten  times  as  much  for  his 
life !  "  cried  Folwarth. 

"  Your  friend  is  no  doubt  gratified  by  your  offer," 
said  Don  Q.,  very  softly,  "  but  all  the  gold  of  Spain 
would  not  buy  his  life!  "  He  turned  his  fierce  gaze 
upon  Warriswold.  "  In  the  contest  between  us 
which  you  chose  to  inaugurate  you  have  been  out- 
witted. Now  your  punishment  shall  match  with 
your  career.  I  am  told  that  you  are  a  great  hunter 
— you  are  about  to  learn  some  of  the  sensations  of 
the  hunted.    Look  well  at  the  valley  below  us." 

The   Englishman   turned.     They   stood   at   the 


174  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

head  of  a  narrow,  deeply- jungled  ravine,  perhaps 
four  miles  long;  its  abrupt,  unscalable  cliffs  shut 
in  a  strip  of  undergrowth,  lentisco,  ragged  shrubs, 
and  thorn  interlaced  with  briars.  Here  and  there  a 
little  brawling  river  gleamed  as  it  caught  the  sun, 
tall  grass  waved  in  patches,  and  scanty  groups  of 
trees  stood  above  the  level  of  the  brushwood.  The 
place  was  so  wild  that  it  held  a  quality  of  fierceness, 
of  menace,  as  if  it  would  strike  its  own  blow  at  a 
human  life.  Folwarth  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  The  moment  when  Senor  Folwarth's  ransom 
arrives,  you," — Don  Q.  signified  Warriswold  with  a 
faint  motion  of  his  finger, — "  you  shall  be  turned 
loose  at  this  spot.  You  will  receive  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  law,  and  then  my  children  with  their  rifles 
shall  hunt  you  down  through  the  length  of  the  val- 
ley as  they  would  hunt  a  noxious  beast.  There  is 
plenty  of  cover  there,  and  paths  which  your  wood- 
craft will  teach  you  how  to  find  and  follow.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  valley  opens  a  narrow  pass,  twenty 
yards  of  bare  slope  leads  up  to  it;  if  you  can  elude 
your  pursuers  and  escape  through  that  pass,  you 
will  be  free.     Have  you  anything  to  say?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Warriswold. 

Ten  days  later,  Folwarth's  ransom  arrived  duly, 
and  he  set  out  on  his  journey  back  to  Lucharno. 
Three  hours  after  his  departure,  the  afternoon  sun, 
slanting  a  little  to  the  west,  lit  up  a  fierce  picture. 
The  hunters,  a  group  of  leather-clad  brigands  with 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    175 

scarlet  sashes  and  gaudy  headgear,  stood  rifles  in 
hand,  two  among  them  holding  each  a  straining  dog 
in  leash.  More  prominent  still  was  the  black- 
bearded,  muscular  figure  of  the  man  who  was  to  be 
hunted,  but  the  dominant  note  lay  in  the  brooding 
figure  of  Don  Q. 

War ris wold  turned  to  him :  "  Sefior,  these 
dog^" 

"  Will  take  part  in  the  chase,  but  in  leash. 
There,"  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  valley,  "  are 
rocks,  brushwood,  and  heavy  undergrowth — cover 
such  as  animals  haunt.  You  are  free  to  seek  their 
shelter." 

"  Without  a  weapon  ?  "  exclaimed  Warriswold. 

"  You  already  possess  the  full  equipment  of  the 
hunted — strength,  agility,  the  secrets  of  woodcraft, 
and  a  love  of  life." 

"  How  long  do  you  give  me  before  my  pursuers 
start?" 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour.     Cut  El  Ingles  loose ! " 

The  big  Englishman's  jaw  came  forward  at  its 
aggressive  tilt  He  walked  out  of  the  camp  to  the 
spot  where  a  thin  track  dropped  sheer  into  the 
depth  of  the  ravine.  There  he  stood  a  moment 
studying  intensely  the  three  or  four  miles  of  low- 
lying  cover  through  which  he  must  force  his  way. 
Then  he  let  himself  down  over  the  edge,  and  to  those 
who  remained  came  the  noise  of  his  heavy  footsteps 
crashing  downwards  through  the  stones  and  thickets. 

But  as  soon  as  Warriswold  believed  himself  to  be 


176  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

beyond  hearing  of  the  camp  he  broke  into  a  run, 
moving  noiselessly,  lightly,  dodging  branches,  stoop- 
ing, hurrying.  He  worked  down  to  the  stream,  and, 
wading  as  far  as  possible  along  its  bed  broke  his 
trail.  Then  out  again  under  shelter  of  a  little  grove, 
pressing  forward  yet  husbanding  his  strength  to 
take  advantage  of  his  second  wind.  But  in  the  back 
of  his  mind  all  the  time  flared  the  picture  of  the 
savage  company  who  would  soon  be  racing  on  his 
track. 

He  was  a  man  not  easily  daunted,  but  when  sud- 
denly there  arose  behind  him  the  unison  of  dogs 
yelping  and  many  voices  raised  in  a  cry,  a  spasm 
of  feeling  such  as  he  had  never  known  checked  him 
for  an  instant.     The  chase  was  afoot! 

Of  all  the  sensations  to  which  the  human  race 
is  heir  that  of  being  hunted  is  the  most  nearly  allied 
to  panic.  But  to  few  men  is  it  given  in  these 
latter  days  to  realise  its  agonies.  As  Warriswold 
paused  he  looked  up.  High  above  him  the  sun  fore- 
told almost  two  hours  further  of  daylight.  The 
weather  was  cruelly  still  in  the  warm  hollow,  and 
about  him  as  he  ran  flies  added  their  irritant  to  the 
total  of  his  sufferings. 

He  raised  himself  into  the  branches  of  a  tree, 
and,  looking  back  down  the  ravine  through  which 
he  had  come,  he  saw  the  long  line  of  his  pursuers 
spreading  across  the  level  ground,  on  each  side  of 
which  rose  great  walls  of  harsh  and  naked  rock, 
cutting  off  all  hope  of  retreat  to  the  right  h^nd  or 


ON    AND    ON    HK    RAN. 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    177 

the  left.  Then  Warriswold  turned  for  one  glimpse 
at  the  goal  he  was  making  for,  where  far  ahead  the 
rocky  walls  swung  together,  and  he  saw,  like  a  slit 
between  them,  the  narrow  pass  which  meant  escape 
and  safety  if  he  could  win  through  it  before  the 
hunters  overtook  and  shot  him  down. 

On  and  on  he  ran,  his  heart  battering  against  his 
ribs,  his  mouth  dry,  his  eyes  aching.  Tom  by 
thorns,  tripped  and  scratched  and  blinded,  for  every 
twig  seemed  to  take  part  against  him  in  those  strain- 
ing minutes,  he  scrambled  on,  on,  on.  The  one  word 
rang  like  a  bell  in  his  ear. 

Yet  ever  present  with  him  was  his  master  passion, 
and — it  may  be  written  to  his  credit — this  was  far 
removed  from  fear.  Nor  was  it  the  joy  of  battle 
either,  but  went  back  behind  and  beyond  that  to  a 
yet  more  primal  instinct.  Life  he  desired,  and  life 
must  be  won  by  his  skill  and  his  endurance,  even 
as  man  had  won  it  in  the  days  when  man  and  beast 
warred  together  for  supremacy. 

He  knew  by  the  sounds  that  he  had  gained  some- 
thing on  his  pursuers,  but  the  insolent  sun  still 
looked  down  upon  his  tragedy,  filling  the  world  with 
radiance  and  aiding  the  death  which  stalked  him  in 
the  daylight. 

The  clamour  of  the  chase  was  growing  ominously 
louder  as  he  plunged  into  the  last  mile  of  his  race 
for  life.  It  would  be  all  a  matter  of  a  minute  or 
two  at  the  end,  he  knew. 

His  eyelids  burned  with  the  effort,  the  world 
12 


178  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

swayed  about  him  as  in  a  nightmare,  snags 
tripped  him,  where  the  thicket  grew  denser  he 
floundered  through  it  Hke  a  bull  at  charge;  his 
labouring  breath  seemed  to  tear  its  way  out  of  his 
throat.  Now  he  was  through  the  river,  but  close 
behind  him  swelled  and  rose  the  chorus  of  his  pur- 
suers. On  and  on  and  on  he  ran,  upheld  now  by 
mere  power  of  will.  In  the  earlier  part  of  his  flight 
he  had  fixed  his  mind  on  the  hazy  pass  far  away  in 
front  of  him,  but  at  the  latter  end  of  the  chase,  dis- 
tressed and  panting,  he  began  to  divide  the  distance 
into  shorter  and  shorter  stretches.  Now  it  was  a 
moss-hag  that  he  made  his  goal,  now  a  thicket  or  a 
tree,  and  ever  as  he  passed  each  he  stumbled  on  to 
fix  his  gaze  on  some  nearer  point,  towards  which 
he  strained  with  bursting  lungs. 

The  sun  slipped  behind  the  over-shadowing  cliffs 
and  a  rush  of  dusk  filled  the  hollow.  By  this  time 
the  leading  dogs  were  not  ten  yards  behind,  or  so 
Warriswold  thought,  when  suddenly  on  the  right 
of  him  rose  an  object,  vague  and  dark,  which  began 
to  rush  aimlessly  back  towards  the  advancing  line 
of  brigands. 

Warriswold  caught  at  the  chance,  it  gave  him  a 
new  strength.  This  thing  might  check  them.  He 
heard  shouts  and  shots,  he  neither  knew  nor  cared  at 
what,  for  now  his  feet  were  upon  the  hard  incline, 
at  the  brow  of  which,  assuming  a  hundred  shapes, 
each  more  grotesque  than  the  last,  he  saw  the  profile 
of  the  pass  cut  against  the  evening  sky  beyond. 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    179 

A  bullet  bleated  past  his  ear  as  he  flung  himself 
through  its  narrow  opening,  dashed  on  and  fell,  fell 
down  and  down  through  tree-tops  and  bushes — but 
what  did  it  matter,  since  he  need  run  no  longer! 
The  will  in  him  gave  way,  and  before  his  body 
reached  the  green  couch  far  below  amongst  the 
lentisco  shrubs,  Warriswold  was  deaf  and  blind,  un- 
conscious of  the  world. 


Before  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  Warriswold 
moved.  His  first  sensation  came  with  the  stirring 
of  his  body,  which  let  loose  the  aromatic  scents  of 
the  leaves  and  shrubs  crushed  and  imprisoned  be- 
neath him. 

He  opened  his  eyes  in  the  heart  of  a  fragrant 
darkness,  and  then  slowly  his  memory  crept  back 
to  union  with  his  consciousness.  Dim  hillsides  rose 
about  him,  clustered  with  pines,  and  above  the  pines 
an  army  of  stars  swung  dizzily.  Warriswold  got 
painfully  to  his  feet,  aching  in  every  limb,  and  like 
a  man  suddenly  grown  old.  Then,  gathering  his 
strength,  he  staggered  away  down  the  mountain- 
side. Sometimes  he  fell,  and  dozed  where  he  fell, 
and  on  waking  walked  forward.  So,  until  the  sun 
banished  the  stars  from  the  sky,  and  Warriswold 
sank  down  beside  a  streamlet  in  which  he  buried  his 
face  and  drank  deeply. 

Thus  instinctively  he  made  his  way  back  to 
Lucharno,  a  mere  phantom  of  a  man,  and  once  there, 


i8o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

without  words,  he  flung  himself  down  and  slept  like 
the  dead. 

He  woke  to  find  Violet  bending  over  him. 

"Where's  Ned?  "he  asked. 

"  Why,  he  was  with  you !    He  is  not  here ! " 

Warriswold  pushed  up  on  his  elbow. 

"  What !  not  come  back  yet  ?  And  you  tell  me 
I  have  slept  for  twenty-four  hours !  Why  he  started 
before — in  fact,  before  I  did.  Something  has  hap- 
pened to  him." 

"  Here  is  a  letter,  brought  by  a  wild-looking  boy 
on  mule-back  this  morning.     Perhaps — " 

**  Of  course.  Let  me  see,"  and  Warriswold  read 
aloud : — 

"  Dear  Richard, — I  send  you  this  by  the  court- 
esy of  Don  Q.  I  have  met  with  a  little  accident, 
entirely  my  own  fault,  and  am  here — being  a  ran- 
somed prisoner — as  the  g^est  of  Don  Q.  He  is  a 
charming  host,  and  I  assure  you  I  am  perfectly  safe. 
But  let  me  intreat  you  not  to  delay  your  return  to 
England  for  me. 

"  Ever  yours,  Ned." 

Warriswold  folded  up  the  letter  thoughtfully^ 
"Do  you  know  what  that  means?" — he  cast  a 
significant  eye  at  Violet.  "  No?  Well,  I  will  tell 
you."  Briefly  he  described  the  ordeal  set  for  him 
by  Don  Q.,  and  added,  "And  now  cannot  you  see 
what  that  confounded  ass  of  a  Ned  did?  Why, 
instead  of  coming  back  here,  he  went  in  at  the 


HOW  DON  Q.  KEPT  CHRISTMAS    i8i 

lower  end  of  the  gorge  and  lay  concealed  until  he 
heard  the  beaters  coming,  and  then  showed  him- 
self, to  give  me  a  chance  to  make  my  escape  while 
they  were  busy  with  him — killing  him  as  he  ex- 
pected. It  is  only  by  the  merest  chance  he  is  alive. 
I  say  it  again — Ned  is  an  infernal  fool !  " 

"  How  dare  you,  father?  " 

Violet's  eyes  were  flaming. 

"  Eh,  what  ?    I  say,  the  fellow's  an  ass ! " 

"  He's  the  noblest  man  on  earth !  How  can  we 
save  him  ?  " 

"  He's  safe  enough ;  but — I  thought  you  didn't 
care?" 

"  Of  course  I  care !  "  said  Violet. 


CHAPTER     XXII 

HOW    DON    Q.    WAS    ASKED   IN    MARRIAGE 

Weary  months  had  passed  away,  little  marked 
by  events  of  interest,  when,  as  the  year  was  again 
closing  in,  a  series  of  unlooked-for  incidents  led 
up  to  one  of  the  most  curious  adventures  that  ever 
befell  Don  Q. 

Don  Manuelo  Moruno  was  smoking  his  eigh- 
teenth cigarette  as  he  sat  fiercely  expectant  under 
the  broken  shelter  hidden  away  in  one  corner  of  the 
olive-grove.  Now  and  then  he  would  rise,  and  from 
behind  a  gnarled  trunk  survey  with  a  long  gaze  the 
four  miles  of  road,  which  could  be  seen  winding 
down  from  the  upper  slopes  and  about  the  hillsides 
through  the  dark  grey-green  of  olive-orchards. 

His  gaunt  muscular  frame,  taken  together  with 
his  brooding  eyes  and  obdurate  chin,  showed  him  a 
man  to  be  feared.  He  was  dressed  in  the  curious 
half-and-half  fashion  which  his  race  often  adopts 
when  upon  a  journey.  His  swarthy  throat  with  his 
well-marked  Adam's  apple  rose  from  the  collar  of 
a  black  coat,  heavy  top-boots  received  trousers  of 
the  same  colour,  and  a  large  sombrero  tossed  aside 
left  bare  his  lined  forehead  and  hair  shaven  so 
close  as  to  expose  the  lighter  skin  beneath. 

Presently  at  the  sound  of  a  soft  scuffling  noise 
he  leaped  to  his  feet,   and,  peering  through  the 

182 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      183 

greenery,  he  saw  a  small  donkey  ambling  towards 
his  place  of  concealment  through  the  dust  of  the 
wayside.  In  a  moment  or  two  it  stopped  beside 
him,  and  from  its  back  slipped  a  figure  entirely  in 
keeping  with  the  wild  and  desolate  landscape. 

The  woman,  for  it  was  a  woman,  made  a  slight, 
almost,  it  seemed,  a  sarcastic  obeisance.  She  was 
tall,  and  through  the  rags  that  covered  her  could 
be  caught  glimpses  of  brown  flesh;  her  eyes  were 
coal-black,  and  her  hair  hung  in  long  tangles  upon 
her  shoulders.  She  stooped  a  little  as  she  walked, 
giving  a  strange  suggestion  of  the  pouncing  attitude 
and  attribute.  But  the  face  she  raised  to  Don  Man- 
uelo's  gloomy  stare  was  elfishly  beautiful. 

"  You  are  late.  Have  you  done  as  I  ordered  ?  " 
he  asked  in  a  harsh  undertone. 

The  woman  pushed  back  her  coarse  hair. 

"  Yes.  But  where  is  the  money  ?  Then,  it  may 
be,  the  gitana  will  speak." 

Don  Manuelo  shook  his  head.  "  I  will  give  no 
more  until  this  matter  be  well  forward." 

The  woman  laughed.  "  Is  it  not  known  to  me 
that  Don  Manuelo,  the  major-domo  of  the  illus- 
trious Dona  Engracia,  he  who  formerly  rode 
through  the  passes  under  the  hat  of  a  Civil  Guard, 
has  but  small  cause  to  love  the  lord  of  the  sierra, 
Don  Q.  ?    But  one  cannot  buy  with  an  empty  hand." 

The  Spaniard's  face  flushed  blackly.  "  You  arc 
insolent  because  you  have  failed  altogether." 

"  No,  no;  not  altogether." 


i84  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  You  were  paid  to  go  into  the  sierra,  and  you 
boasted  that  when  you  returned  again  you  would 
teach  me  when  and  where  to  strike  at  this  brigand." 

"  Have  I  not  done  so?  " 

"  Caramba !  You  have  not  told  me  where  to 
strike  him  ?  " 

"  Even  a  Spaniard  must  know  that  he  has  a 
heart — as  other  men !  Strike  there !  "  she  mocked, 
then  shrank  back,  half -frightened.  "  Come,  give 
me  the  remainder  of  my  reward,  and  let  me  go. 
My  tongue  is  locked." 

Don  Manuelo  sat  debating  deeply  with  himself 
for  a  moment. 

"  Unlock  your  tongue,"  he  said,  and  drew  out  a 
roll  of  paper  notes.  Slowly,  with  his  eyes  upon  her 
face,  he  counted  four,  one  after  another,  into  her 
hand,  and,  crushing  up  the  remainder,  he  thrust 
them  back  into  his  waistband.    *'  Speak." 

The  woman  moved  away  a  few  paces,  sulkily 
pulling  her  donkey  behind  her,  then  hesitated  and 
faced  round.  "  For  this  money  I  have  in  my 
bosom,  and  for — another  reason,"  her  voice 
dropped,  "  I  will  tell  the  Gentile  when  to  strike, 
where  to  strike,  aye,  I  will  even  put  into  his  hand 
the  weapon  he  must  strike  with." 

"  Bueno !  But  if  you  deceive  me,  there  is  no 
brushwood  in  the  campo  thick  enough  to  cover  you 
and  your  tribe  from  punishment !  " 

"  I  have  no  tribe,  for  I  am  not  a  gipsy  of  Spain ; 
my  people  are  those  Bohemios  who  travel  down  to 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      185 

the  warm  south  when  the  winter  winds  begin  to 
blow.  As  to  deceiving  you — why  should  I  do 
that?  Perchance  poor  Yesha  has  her  own  hatreds. 
Where  is  her  man  ?  He  sleeps  these  two  years  past 
by  the  fires  of  Don  Q.,  not  at  the  side  of  his  wife." 

"  What?  Your  man  belongs  to  the  band  of  Don 
Q.  ?  Surely  there  is  a  hand  to  pluck  at  the  brigand's 
life!  "  exclaimed  Don  Manuelo. 

But  Yesha  snapped  an  impatient  finger  and  thumb 
at  the  suggestion. 

"  Would  you  tell  me  that  your  man  loves  his 
lord?" 

"  In  the  mountains,  sefior,  love  and  fear  are  one. 
I  sought  my  man  in  the  mountains;  he  chased  me 
away  with  blows ;  but  when  you  have  carried  away 
his  master,  perchance  my  man  will  come  back  to 
me  " — she  pressed  her  face  against  the  donkey's 
ragged  coat — "  perchance  my  man  will  come  back 
to  me!" 

Don  Manuelo  had  gained  some  slight  knowledge 
of  the  ways  of  womenkind  in  his  old  policing  days, 
therefore  he  waited  silently  for  more. 

"  Listen,  I  would  not  follow  my  people  when  they 
travelled  back  to  the  north,  nor  dared  I  seek  the 
barrio  of  the  Zingali  who  dwell  near  to  the  city,  for 
they  would  have  cast  me  out.  So  with  our  little 
tent  and  the  old  waggon  I  have  camped  alone  upon 
the  waste  land  hard  by  the  road  from  the  sierra. 
Thus  have  I  learned  that  year  by  year  Don  Q. 
journeys  down  at  this  season  to  Cadiz.    I  have  lain 


i86  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

in  the  thickets  and  watched  him  pass.  Aye,  and 
even  now,  as  we  speak,  the  great  lord  of  the  heaths 
and  the  ravines  starts  upon  his  long  ride  thither- 
ward." 

Manuelo  was  up  and  moving  at  the  word.  "  I 
comprehend.     We  must  intercept  him." 

But  the  gipsy  sprang  at  him  and  seized  his  arm. 
"  Do  you  know  my  lord  of  the  mountains  and  not 
remember  that  he  is  at  all  times  well  guarded? 
There  is  but  one  small  hour  when  he  moves  alone. 
At  the  end  of  the  week  is  the  festival  of  Tosants 
(All  Saints'  Day),  and" — she  lowered  her  eyelids 
with  a  look  of  cunning — "  but  that  is  my  secret.  I 
will  beg  this  year  in  the  streets,  and  I  will  speak 
with  him  and  lead  him  to  my  tent.  I  can  do  no 
more." 

Manuelo  shook  off  her  grasp.  "  Fool !  he  will  not 
follow  you." 

"  Yes — ^because  of  a  woman." 

But  Manuelo  pushed  her  aside  with  a  savage  oath. 
"  Go !  You  know  nothing !  I  cannot  trust  you. 
This  man  loves  no  woman !  " 

Yesha  crouched  like  a  wild  thing  under  his  rough 
hand.  "  Hear  me,  nevertheless !  For  it  is  in  my 
mind  that  when  last  the  lord  of  the  sierra  rode  into 
Cadiz,  he  carried  with  him  such  ornaments  as 
Gentile  women  wear." 


CHAPTER     XXIII 

HOW    DON    Q.    WAS    ASKED   IN    MARRIAGE 

(continued) 

It  now  becomes  our  part  to  draw  across  the  page 
for  an  instant  a  new  figure.  The  beautiful  Maria 
Dolores  del  Lutoleale  y  de  Vardelos  had  a  face 
for  which  men  in  earlier  days  would  have  fought 
and  died.  As  it  was  it  drew  many  a  caballero  to 
walk  in  the  nightly  paseo,  when  between  the  hours 
of  nine  and  ten  the  fairest  daughters  of  Cadiz  moved 
through  the  wonderful  streets  of  the  city  of  the 
purple  dome.  But  more  glances  might  have  been 
shot  at  Dona  Dolores  had  it  been  known  that  she 
was  a  maid  perilous,  that  the  road  to  her  favour 
was  guarded  by  some  of  the  sharpest  swords  in 
Spain.  This  knowledge  would  not  have  detracted 
from,  nay,  such  is  human  nature,  must  surely  have 
added  to  her  charms.  Here  was  a  rose  beset  with 
thorns,  a  southern  passion-flower  growing  in  an 
old-world  garden  into  which  the  bravest  might  not 
venture.  But  none  of  these  things  appeared  on 
the  surface,  nor  did  the  noble  youths  who  pressed 
round  her  imagine  that  each  one's  name  and  lineage 
were  scanned  by  eyes  of  which  they  did  not  dream, 
but  which  they  yet  might  come  to  fear. 

Occasionally,  on  the  pages  of  history,  women  of 
her  family  had  risen  far  above  the  commonplace, 

187 


i88  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

that  grave  which  engulfs  all  save  the  fortunate  and 
the  most  unfortunate.  The  story  is  still  told  in 
Spain  of  that  Lutoleale  maiden  at  the  shrine  of 
whose  honour  a  grandee  of  the  King's  blood  died  in 
the  forest  by  the  hands  of  Camilio  and  Adan,  the 
two  pale  brothers,  who  flash  across  the  page  of 
history  and  vanish  from  it  sword  in  hand  ere  thirty 
years  had  passed  over  the  heads  of  either.  Thus 
there  grew  up  in  Cadiz  this  Dofia  Dolores,  a  dark 
flower  nurtured  in  the  shade  of  a  convent  for  six- 
teen years,  a  vision  at  barred  windows,  but  now  come 
forth  smiling  into  the  sun  and  the  moonlight,  to 
meet  in  the  white  city  a  promise  of  the  future. 

It  is  not  hard  to  believe  that  in  the  recesses  of  his 
heart  Don  Q.  cherished  old  memories  and  regrets. 
The  series  of  events  which  now  carried  the  current 
of  his  life  once  more  into  the  same  channel  with 
that  of  Manuelo  Moruno  had  their  source  in  a 
moment  of  contact  with  the  past. 

About  the  same  hour  that  Manuelo,  his  heart 
filled  with  frenzied  anticipation,  turned  his  face 
towards  Cadiz,  Don  Q.  also  set  forth  in  the  like 
direction.  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Man- 
uelo to  have  chosen  in  all  wide  Spain  a  more  efficient 
ally  than  the  gipsy  Yesha.  Like  a  hundred  other 
gitanas,  with  their  high-sounding  names  and  their 
rags,  both  a  heritage  of  the  black  Zingali  blood, 
she  had  hovered  like  a  bird  of  prey,  fierce  but  not 
uncomely,  around  the  houses  of  the  Cadiz  rich, 
telling  fortunes,  pilfering  as  occasion  offered,  and 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      189 

in  all  cases  relying  for  sustenance  upon  her  dealings 
with  them. 

Few  finer  detectives  than  this  can  be  imagined. 
Chance  had  filled  her  with  a  fire  of  resentment 
against  the  brigand,  and  it  was  chance  again  that 
placed  in  her  grasp  the  single  thread  which  yet 
bound  Don  Q.  to  the  old  days.  She  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  out  the  destination  of  the  jewels 
he  had  in  the  previous  year  carried  with  him  to  the 
plains,  although  her  hand  was  one  of  the  three  or 
four  through  which  they  passed  on  their  way.  But 
it  has  already  been  explained  that  each  of  Don 
Q.'s  agents  knew  no  more  than  his  or  her  share  of 
any  business  that  happened  to  be  forward;  the 
matter  in  its  entirety  dwelt  only  in  the  knowledge  of 
their  master. 

It  was  early  morning  on  All  Saints*  Day.  The  last 
echo  of  the  sonorous  Latin  blessing  had  died  away 
in  the  great  purple-domed  cathedral  of  Cadiz.  The 
lights  about  the  altar  gleamed  softly,  many  women 
were  kneeling  before  it,  and  groups  of  cloaked  men 
stood  in  the  shadows  cast  by  holy  candles.  Over 
the  whole  building  was  sunk  that  air  of  mystery 
and  prayer,  which  even  in  mid-day  causes  the 
wanderer  through  those  great  aisles  to  move  with 
a  reverence  not  untouched  by  the  spirit  of  awe. 

Dolores,  yielding  to  the  pervading  emotionalism 
of  the  moment,  trembled  a  little  as  she  knelt  with 
her  old  nurse  beside  her.  I  fear  it  must  be  owned 
that  her  presence  had  allured  some  of  the  cloaked 


190  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

caballeros  thither;  one  in  particular,  with  a  muffled 
face,  who  stood  in  the  gloom  of  a  pillar,  had,  beyond 
all  question,  come  with  the  single  purpose  of  look- 
ing upon  her.  Had  the  name  of  this  man  been 
shouted  aloud,  every  head  would  have  turned  to 
behold  him,  for  this  was  Don  Q.,  he  whose  wild  life 
and  deeds  had  laid  the  foundations  of  a  thousand 
legends,  tales  of  the  snow  and  the  crags  in  the  lonely 
sierra.  Least  of  all  was  Dolores  herself  aware  of 
the  scrutiny  of  this  man  of  her  blood,  who  ordered 
her  life  from  afar,  and  who,  that  he  might  behold 
her  fair  face  which  awoke  in  him  memories  of  his 
youth,  risked  his  life  year  by  year  as  he  would  have 
risked  ten  lives  had  he  possessed  them. 

The  service  over,  the  congregation  filtered  slowly 
out  into  the  street,  and  amongst  them  went  Dona 
Dolores;  but  as  she  approached  the  niche  contain- 
ing holy  water,  a  heavily  cloaked  caballero  stood 
at  her  side.  She  met  his  keen  gaze  with  her  wide 
clear  eyes. 

"  God  go  with  you,"  he  said  softly. 

"And  with  you,"  she  replied,  and  passed  on. 

Don  Q.  lingered  a  moment  under  the  doorway. 
He  had  never  spoken  to  the  girl  before,  and  the 
answering  spirit  in  her  dark  eyes  raised  a  tempest 
of  remembrance  in  his  heart.  So  had  those  other 
eyes  looked  long,  long  ago. 

A  timid  touch  roused  him.  A  gitana,  with  a 
gaudy  handkerchief  tied  about  her  head,  held  out 
her  hand  for  alms,  and  as  he  gave  to  her  she  whis- 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      191 

pered :  "  She  whom  you  love  is  in  danger.     Meet 
me  at  nightfall  without  the  barrio  of  the  Zingali." 

Sunset  was  dying  in  a  bar  of  sullen  crimson  low 
over  the  sea,  and  night  had  already  trailed  her 
cloak  through  the  narrow  streets  when  Don  Q.  rode 
towards  the  spot  the  gipsy  had  named.  A  heavy 
storm  was  blowing  up  from  the  Mediterranean, 
drooping  clouds  darkened  overhead  as  he  left  behind 
him  the  phalanxed  city,  then  the  smaller  and  more 
detached  houses,  and,  lastly,  the  quarter  of  the 
gipsies.  Just  beyond  he  came  upon  the  woman 
mounted  on  her  donkey,  waiting  in  the  middle  of  the 
road. 

Without  a  word  she  turned  and  pushed  ahead. 
An  encampment  of  gipsies  lay  to  the  right,  but  to 
the  brigand's  surprise  she  avoided  the  by-path  which 
led  to  it  and  held  to  her  course  along  the  highway. 
The  two  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  the 
storm  burst  in  wind  and  rain,  swooping  and  batter- 
ing across  the  levels.  Once  or  twice  they  met  with 
wayfarers  making  for  the  city,  but  as  Cadiz  fell 
further  and  further  behind,  they  had  the  road  to 
themselves.  At  length  the  gipsy  diverged  into  a 
wild  track  which  led  over  a  heath,  and  suddenly  in 
a  dip  of  the  ground  there  loomed  up  a  dark,  rain- 
sodden  tent;  this,  and  a  waggon,  to  the  shaft  of 
which  a  horse  stood  tethered,  formed  the  sole  objects 
that  broke  the  desolation  of  the  waste.  The  torn 
flap  of  the  tent  beat  about  in  the  gusts  of  the  gale, 


192  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  Don  Q.  could  see  that  a  light  burned  within  it, 
and  that  it  stood  empty. 

The  gipsy,  slipping  from  her  mount,  signed  to 
him  to  do  likewise,  and  both  animals  were  tied 
up.  "  We  will  go  into  the  shelter,"  she  said,  "  where 
we  can  talk  together." 

She  held  back  the  flap  of  the  tent  while  Don  Q., 
full  of  disquietude  and  occupied  with  anxious  fears 
for  Dolores,  passed  into  it.  He  had  hardly  entered 
when  the  tent  collapsed  upon  him  and  he  found 
himself  struggling  in  its  wet  enmeshing  folds.  He 
fired  twice  through  the  canvas  before  a  great  weight 
pinned  his  arm  to  the  ground,  nearly  breaking  it, 
the  revolver  was  torn  from  his  grasp,  and  strong, 
nimble  fingers  felt  over  his  body  for  his  knife  and 
other  weapons. 

Don  Q.'s  sensations  were  those  of  suffocation  as 
the  folds  of  the  tent  were  pressed  closer  and  wrapped 
about  his  head  and  body;  next  a  rope,  wound 
pitilessly  tight,  made  all  fast  and  sure. 

As  soon  as  he  recognized  its  uselessness  he  ceased 
to  struggle.  To  his  astonishment,  no  single  word 
was  spoken;  the  wind  raved,  and  the  rain  poured 
down,  while  he  was  left  to  wonder  who  might  be  his 
captor.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  bitterly 
incensed  at  his  betrayal,  yet  he  could  not  blame  him- 
self for  the  incidents  which  led  up  to  it.  The  gipsies 
had  always  been  his  friends ;  some  of  his  immediate 
followers  were  drawn  from  their  tribes,  and  they 
entered  largely  into  the  composition  of  that  intelli- 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      193 

gence  department  the  excellence  of  which  he  made 
his  especial  care  and  pride.  His  first  idea  was  that 
some  wandering  tribe  had  captured  him  by  mistake. 
Such  things  were  not  unknown,  and  many  a  rich 
hidalgo  had  been  tempted  by  these  dark  women  into 
wild  places  of  the  campo,  from  which  all  of  them  had 
not  returned.  The  method  of  capture,  too,  pointed 
to  such  a  conclusion. 

After  a  few  moments  he  heard  footsteps  and  the 
trampling  of  a  horse,  then  two  strong  arms  raised 
him  and  tossed  him  into  the  cart,  which  at  once 
began  to  jolt  away  over  the  uneven  surface  of  the 
heath.  In  time  the  easier  motion  told  Don  Q.  that 
they  had  now  emerged  upon  the  high  road;  but 
whither  he  was  being  taken  or  by  whom  he  was 
accompanied  he  could  gain  not  the  smallest  hint ;  but 
as  hour  joined  hour  he  began  to  conclude  that  Cadiz 
was  not  the  objective  of  his  journey. 


13 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

HOW   DON   Q.    WAS   ASKED   IN    MARRIAGE — 

(continued) 

Slowly  the  night  wore  through,  and  with  morn- 
ing the  brigand  heard  the  creak  and  groan  of 
passing  vehicles,  or  the  soft  padding  of  mules;  but 
even  the  "  Go  with  God  "  with  which  the  passers-by 
saluted  the  unknown  in  whose  hands  his  fate  lay, 
failed  to  elicit  any  response. 

Presently  he  knew  the  sun  had  risen  high  in 
heaven,  for  its  rays  struck  through  the  black  tent  in 
which  he  was  wrapped,  and  there  penetrated  to  him 
the  smell  of  heated  dust,  mingling  with  the  thousand 
odours  that  sleep  amid  the  roadside  trees  and  orch- 
ards of  Spain.  But  still  the  cart  rumbled  on  and  on, 
and  its  driver  maintained  the  same  complete  and 
menacing  silence,  while  Don  Q.,  unable  to  read  the 
riddle  of  his  capture,  and  worn  out  with  cramping 
pains,  dozed,  now  and  again  losing  for  a  few 
moments  the  consciousness  of  his  sufferings. 

But  by-and-by  he  was  shaken  back  into  wake- 
fulness, for  the  jolting,  creaking,  and  groaning  were 
redoubled,  and  it  was  obvious  to  anyone  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  country  that  the  waggon  had  left 
the  road,  such  as  it  was,  and  was  blundering  among 
hills. 

The  heat  of  the  day  waned,  and  evening  had  come, 

194 


MB    MADE    OUT    THAT    HE    WAS    LYING    BESIPE    A    FIRE    ON    THE 
STONE    FLOOR. 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      195 

when  at  length  the  wheels  ceased  their  complainings, 
the  cart  halted,  and  various  sounds  told  Don  Q. 
that  the  horse  was  being  unharnessed.  Soon  he 
was  lifted  by  the  same  strong  arms,  strong  beyond 
the  common — for  the  weight  of  a  man  combined 
with  that  of  a  heavy  tent,  could  not  have  been 
handled  with  such  slow  ease  except  by  the  possessor 
of  unusual  physical  power.  He  was  carried  for 
some  distance,  thrown  roughly  on  the  ground, 
fingers  groped  about  the  region  of  his  neck,  a  knife 
was  used,  and  a  rapid  slit  released  his  head  from 
the  stifling  folds  of  cloth. 

For  a  moment  he  was  aware  of  nothing  but  an 
acrid  smell  of  wood-smoke;  then,  his  eyes  becom- 
ing accustomed  to  the  light,  he  made  out  that  he  was 
lying  beside  a  fire  on  the  stone  floor  of  a  huge  bare 
hall,  while  over  against  him  stood  a  gaunt  man,  who 
stared  at  him  with  sombre  eyes. 

No  hint  of  fatigue  or  suffering  mixed  with  the 
brigand's  urbane  greeting  as  he  recognised  his  com- 
panion. "So  it  is  indeed  you,  my  Manuelo?  I 
have  in  truth  often  dreamed  that  we  should  meet 
again." 

Manuelo  Moruno  was  that  most  formidable  speci- 
men of  humanity,  a  good  man  morosely  embittered, 
one  who  had  fallen  foul  of  life  and  became  obsessed 
with  a  single  idea  that  had  driven  him  into  the 
goblin  domain  of  mania.  His  one  aim  was  to 
compass  the  destruction  of  Don  Q.  Years  ago  he 
had  made  his  first  attempt  and  failed;  after  that, 


196  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

broken  and  disheartened,  he  had  given  up  his  post  in 
the  Civil  Guard,  but  never  for  one  moment  did  his 
thoughts  stray  from  that  single  goal,  and  now — 
now  at  last  Fate  and  Yesha  had  delivered  his  enemy 
into  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  we  meet  again,"  he  replied. 

"  I  have  by  no  means  forgotten  your  oath,  be- 
cause, indeed,  it  gave  me  some  interesting  moments. 
If  I  remember  rightly,  you  swore  to  kill  me." 

"And  I  shall  kill  you!" 

"  Manuelo,  Manuelo,  have  you  succeeded  ?  Have 
you  brought  him  here?"  croaked  a  sudden  voice 
from  somewhere  in  the  gloom.  "Ah,  he  is  here? 
Pray  prepare  him  to  receive  me.  But,  Manuelo, 
Manuelo,"  with  a  rising  cadence,  "  leave  his  hands 
and  feet  secured." 

"  We  part  but  only  for  a  moment,"  muttered 
Manuelo  as  he  cut  away  the  tent  and  outer  rope  that 
bound  Don  Q.  and  assisted  him  to  a  bench. 

But  the  brigand,  cramped  and  half  paralysed  by 
the  long  compression  of  his  bonds,  sank  back  al- 
most fainting  against  the  wall  behind  him.  Man- 
uelo, meantime,  with  a  prosaic  match  lit  a  dozen 
or  more  mariposas — wicks  swimming  in  olive  oil — 
huddled  together  on  the  rickety  table,  and  these  lent 
a  weak  smear  of  radiance  to  the  obscurity  of  that 
hall  of  adventure. 

Don  Q.  had  already  had  time  to  recover  himself, 
when,  with  a  rush  and  flurry  of  footsteps  and  a 
clang  of  metal,  a  tall  figure  advanced  from  the 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      197 

wings  of  darkness  into  the  amber  light  of  the  mari- 
posas.  At  sight  of  it,  the  brigand  with  an  effort 
assumed  a  more  erect  posture. 

His  visitor  was  a  woman  of  great  height,  carry- 
ing herself  majestically.  A  robe  of  tarnished  cloth 
of  gold  swept  behind  her,  an  ancient  corselet  of 
steel  gleamed  upon  her  breast,  her  big,  straggling 
features  grimaced  from  the  open  visor  of  a  helmet, 
and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  boar  spear,  evidently 
taken  from  among  the  trophies  which  hung  upon  the 
wall.  The  only  chair  the  cavernous  hall  contained 
stood  directly  opposite  to  the  bench  where  Don  Q. 
lay.  On  this  chair  the  lady  disposed  herself  and  her 
draperies  with  an  eye  to  effect,  and  immediately 
broke  into  fit  after  fit  of  giggling  laughter. 

The  brigand  watched  her,  and  the  idea  shot  across 
his  brain  that  there  was  but  one  lady  in  Spain 
who  could  answer  to  the  description  of  her  who  sat 
before  him,  the  senorita  Dona  Engracia  de  Terente. 
If  so,  this  was  the  castle  of  Terente,  a  remote  and 
ruinous  stronghold  in  the  centre  of  vast  estates  from 
which  most  of  the  tenants  had  fled  terror-stricken. 

"  You  have  come  at  last,  illustrious  one,"  the 
lady  said  graciously.    "At  last  you  behold  me !  " 

Don  Q.  never  omitted  the  full  tribute  of  courtesy 
to  a  lady.    "  I  am  highly  honoured,"  he  murmured. 

"  Be  content,  noble  sefior,"  she  reassured  him ; 
"  this  is  but  a  beginning." 

"  But  why  am  I  here  in  bonds,  lady?  " 

"  I  will  cut  them  with  my  own  hand — after  a 


198  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

word  or  two  with  you.     You  have  guessed — you 
must  assuredly  have  guessed — why  I  sent  for  you." 
"  You  sent  for  me  ?     Indeed,  I  imagined  that 
Manuelo — " 

"Manuelo?"  she  repeated  angrily;  "he  is  but 
my  major-domo.  I  intrusted  him  with  this  supreme 
errand."  She  rose,  clattered  the  butt  of  the  spear  on 
the  stones,  and,  holding  it  upright  at  arm's  length, 
resumed  her  stately  manner.  "  You  are  about  to 
marry  me." 

Don  Q.'s  life  had  been  one  of  surprises,  but  it  is 
unlikely  that  any  former  surprise  quite  rivalled 
this. 

"  Words  fail  me,"  he  began.  "  I  had  not  thought 
my  personal  charm — " 

"  These  details  are  beside  the  question,"  she  cried. 
"  You  are  King  of  the  Mountains,  therefore  I  have 
chosen  you  to  be  my  consort.  Royal  marriages  are 
made  every  year  without  affection  on  either  side; 
with  us  " — she  softened  to  an  instant's  coyness — 
"  that  may  not  be  true.  But  on  the  higher  ground  of 
state-craft,  the  alliance  I  propose  to  you  will  benefit 
both  of  us — and  Spain  will  rejoice,  for  we  shall  be 
a  new  Ferdinand  and  Isabella." 

"  I  am  at  a  disadvantage,"  said  Don  Q.  gently, 
**  while  discussing  this  matter  in  bonds." 

"  You  can  free  yourself  by  speaking  one  word." 

"And  that  word?" 

"  Is  your  promise  to  wed  me." 

For  a  moment  temptation  assailed  Don  Q.     He 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      199 

saw  he  was  dealing  with  a  woman  of  unhinged 
mind,  yet  some  chivalrous  instinct  would  not  permit 
him  to  lie  to  her.  "  In  that  case,  sefiorita,  I  fear 
I  must  remain  as  I  am,"  he  said. 

"But  why?"  she  cried.  "I  am  not  without  a 
fitting  dowry.  Hundreds  of  peasants  till  my  lands, 
and  my  family  is,  as  you  must  know,  one  of  the 
most  noble  and  wealthy  in  Andalucia,  or  even  in 
Spain." 

"  Believe  me,  I  recognise  the  honour  you  do  me, 
but  I  am  no  longer  a  young  man ;  also  I  am  broken 
with  many  sorrows." 

**  I  will  comfort  you,"  put  in  Dofia  Engracia 
alertly.     "You  accept?" 

"  Alas !    I  must  deny  myself  with  felicity." 

"  You  surely  cannot  refuse,"  she  cried. 

"  With  a  thousand  apologies,"  said  Don  Q. 

Dona  Engracia  sprang  towards  him,  and  for  a 
moment  Don  Q.  thought  she  meant  to  end  the 
matter  then  and  there  with  the  spear  she  carried. 
But  suddenly  into  her  mad  brain  swept  some  new 
colour  of  purpose,  for  she  seized  Don  Q.  with  both 
hands  and  began  to  drag  him  across  the  floor  of  the 
hall. 

"  Do  not  inconvenience  yourself,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  Don  Q.  "  I  am  willing  to  follow  wherever 
you  desire  to  take  me." 

"  That  is  well,"  replied  Dofia  Engracia,  and  she 
loosened  the  cords  on  his  ankles;  then,  holding  a 
mariposa  in  one  hand,  she  drove  him  before  her 


200  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

from  the  hall  into  a  dark  passage.  They  had  ad- 
vanced some  way  along  this  when  she  stooped  and 
whispered  in  his  ear :  "  Run  forward ;  save  yourself ! 
For  here  is  Manuelo,  who  would  slay  you.  Fly,  that 
is  the  way  of  escape !  " 

Don  Q.  began  a  sentence  of  thanks  as  he  ran  for- 
ward, but  it  was  never  ended,  for  the  ground  seemed 
suddenly  cut  off  from  under  his  feet,  and  this  sen- 
sation was  followed  by  a  horror  of  falling  through 
darkness.  He  landed  on  a  mass  of  decaying  straw, 
and  above  him  he  fancied  he  heard  the  woman's 
cackle  of  maniac  laughter. 

Don  Q.,  dazed  by  his  fall  of  twenty  feet  or  more, 
did  not  know  how  long  a  time  had  passed  when  he 
came  sufficiently  to  himself  to  take  stock  of  his 
surroundings.  These  appeared  to  consist  chiefly  of 
thick  gloom,  the  foul  straw  which  had  more  or  less 
broken  his  fall,  and  the  slimy  wall  with  which  he 
came  into  violent  contact  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
move.  His  first  feeling  on  bumping  against  it  was, 
however,  far  from  being  one  of  chagrin,  for  the 
surface  of  the  stone  was  so  uneven  that  he  at  once 
commenced  to  fray  away  the  knots  which  bound 
his  hands. 

This  was  not  done  in  a  hurry,  but  at  length  they 
were  free,  and  he  hastened  to  rid  himself  of  the 
cords  that  still  hung  about  his  ankles. 

He  was  waiting  to  allow  the  blood  to  circulate  in 
his  limbs  before  starting  on  a  systematic  examina- 
tion of  his  dungeon,  which  perhaps  was  destined  to 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      201 

be  the  stone  sheath  in  which  the  blade  of  his  life  must 
rust  and  perish,  when  a  slight  rustle  as  of  a  rat 
running  over  the  straw  arrested  him.  He  stood 
listening,  and  could  just  detect  the  breathing  of  the 
creature  which  shared  his  prison.  There  followed  a 
moment  of  silence,  and  then  an  irrepressible  groan 
broke  on  the  air. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  said  Don  Q. 

"  You?  "  the  answering  voice  rose  in  a  hoarse  cry 
of  exultation.  "  I  do  not  resent  death  any  longer 
since  I  shall  die  in  the  cage  where  the  Quebranta 
huesos  must  die  also !  " 

"  How  came  you  here,  Manuelo?  ''  questioned  the 
brigand. 

"  It  matters  nothing  now  if  you  know  the  whole 
story,"  replied  Manuelo.  **  I  believed  she  hated  you 
when  she  gave  me  money  to  bribe  the  gipsy.  I 
thought  she  would  help  me  to  slay  you — ^to  pluck  out 
your  life—" 

"  You  will  be  good  enough  to  speak  with  civility," 
interposed  Don  Q.,  "or  I  shall  force  you  to  do  so." 

Manuelo  groaned  again.  "An  hour  ago  I  could 
have  crushed  you,  but  now — " 

"  What  has  happened?  " 

"  I  spoke  to  the  sefiorita  of  your  capture,  and 
described  how  we  should  put  an  end  to  your  life 
after  she  had  had  speech  with  you.  Then  I  learned 
I  had  mistaken  her  desires.  Far  from  slaying  you, 
she  meant  to  marry  you.  Thus,  when  I  spoke  of 
killing  you,  in  her  wrath  she  thrust  violently  at  me 


202  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

with  her  spear,  wounding  me  so  that  I  fell  back- 
wards into  this  dungeon,  for  secretly  she  had  opened 
the  trap-door  to  betray  me.  She  is,  in  truth,  of  a 
great  cunning.  Ah !  I  suffer !  This  madwoman  has 
broken  my  back.     I  cannot  move,  I  hardly  breathe." 

"  Perhaps  a  change  of  position  would  ease  you." 

"  No ;  do  not  touch  me.  Let  me  die.  But  oh, 
how  can  I  die  in  this  darkness  ?    Give  me  light !  " 

"  I  have  some  dry  matches ;  I  will  light  one," 
said  Don  Q.,  his  heart  relenting  at  the  sound  of 
the  broken  voice. 

"  Senor,  you  can  do  more  than  that.  Feel  along 
the  wall,  and  you  will  come  upon  some  barrels,  on 
one  of  which  you  will  find  a  lantern.  Kindle  it,  I 
beseech  you,  that  I  may  see  the  light." 

Guiding  himself  by  the  wall,  Don  Q.  reached  the 
barrels  of  which  Manuelo  spoke. 

"  Quick !  Have  you  found  them  ?  "  murmured 
the  faint  voice.  "  Hasten,  for  the  love  of  the  saints ! 
or  I  shall  die  in  the  darkness." 

Don  Q.'s  groping  hand  overset  the  lantern,  but 
he  picked  it  up  and  laid  a  match  to  the  wick,  which 
was  upheld  by  a  mere  film  of  candle.  It  could  burn 
only  two  or  three  minutes  at  the  most,  but  he  hoped 
it  might  comfort  the  dying  man.  First  the  flame 
glowed  red  and  bulbous,  then  it  flared  slowly  up  to 
a  yellow  core,  melting  the  denseness  of  the  gloom, 
and  showing  Don  Q.  something  of  his  prison. 

The  place  was  almost  circular,  and  much  larger 
than  he  expected,  being  some  fifteen  feet  in  diameter. 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      203 

The  roof  curved  inwards,  but  the  lantern's  light  was 
too  feeble  to  show  the  position  of  the  trap-door  far 
above.  Four  or  five  small  casks  were  grouped  at 
one  side,  and  half  sunk  in  the  filthy  straw  where  he 
had  rolled  after  his  fall,  lay  Manuelo,  his  face 
ghastly  pale,  a  blood  clot  gathered  on  his  forehead, 
but  his  wild  eyes  burning  like  stars. 

Don  Q.  would  have  advanced  towards  him,  but 
he  groaned  out :  "  Stay  where  you  are,  I  have  a 
few  words  to  say  to  you.  .  .  .  For  many  years 
I  have  tried  to  capture  you,  and  it  has  always  been 
my  prayer  that  I  might  buy  your  life  with  my  own. 
That  has  been  granted  to  me.  I  begged  for  light, 
and  you  gave  it  with  your  own  hand."  He  strained 
up  his  head.  "  I  wanted  a  light  by  which  to  aim  at 
the  barrels,  for  they  are  full  of  powder ! "  He 
plucked  a  revolver  from  the  straw  and  took  aim. 

The  brigand  flung  himself  face  down  behind  an 
angle  as  the  shot  rang  out.  Instantly  the  place  was 
filled  with  the  thunder  and  the  shock  of  two  almost 
simultaneous  explosions.  Manuelo's  last  cry  died  in 
their  roar.  Don  Q.  lay  stunned;  but  although  the 
solid  masonry  was  torn,  owing  to  that  strange 
arbitrariness  of  action  so  often  exhibited  by  ex- 
plosives, he  was  left  otherwise  uninjured. 

A  screeching  that  shook  the  echoes  roused  him 
into  palpitating  consciousness.  "  Manuelo,  Man- 
uelo! what  have  you  done?  How  dare  you  con- 
tinue to  be  silent?  Have  you  slain  the  great  lord 
whom  I  love?    Let  me  but  find  his  body,  and  I  will 


204  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

build  for  it  a  mausoleum  on  the  summit  of  the 
highest  peak  and  mourn  for  him  all  my  life!  But  as 
for  you,  vile  spawn  of  Murcia !  you  I  shall  torture !  " 

Dona  Engracia's  curses  fell  unheeded  upon  the 
dead  ears  of  her  major-domo;  but  Don  Q.  at  the 
sound,  raised  himself,  and  with  still  bewildered 
senses  gazed  about  him.  And  then  he  saw  something 
that  made  him  stagger  to  his  feet.  For  where  the 
powder  casks  had  rested  against  the  wall  there  now 
showed  a  soft  luminance  of  sky,  and  through  the 
broken  stonework  four  stars  looked  in  upon  him 
with  calm  and  friendly  eyes. 

Moving  with  the  greatest  caution,  he  made  his 
way  through  the  debris  of  masonry  to  the  aperture 
in  the  wall,  over  which  hung  a  huge  stone  that  the 
slightest  touch  must  dislodge.  To  pass  under  it 
was  to  risk  his  life. 

"  Better  be  crushed  to  death  by  her  castle  than 
live  to  be  embraced  by  the  chatelaine ! "  he  told 
himself  grimly,  as  he  slipped  through  the  opening 
and  dropped  upon  the  tangled  vegetation  of  the 
slope  below. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  up.  Above 
him  towered  the  dark  curtain-wall  to  the  battle- 
ments, and  in  the  dimness  it  was  hard  to  tell  where 
the  stone  ended  and  the  sky  began.  A  single  light 
shone  out  through  a  high  window,  the  only  one 
which  redeemed  the  vast  and  solitary  pile  from 
absolute  gloom. 

As  he  gazed,  the  casement  opened,  but  Don  Q. 


DON  Q.  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE      205 

did  not  wait  to  see  who  it  was  that  looked  out  into 
the  night.  He  turned,  and,  with  a  prayer  of  grati- 
tude to  San  Pedro  of  the  Sierra,  he  ran  swiftly 
beyond  reach  of  pursuit  through  a  wood  of  young 
trees. 


'^^ 


CHAPTER    XXV 

HOW   DON    Q.    BECAME   A    SQUIRE   OF   DAMES 

Much  that  is  set  down  in  the  autobiography  of 
Don  Q.  can  never  be  given  to  the  public,  for  indeed 
the  full  history  of  the  years  he  spent  in  the  seclusion 
of  the  sierra  would  make  a  strange  volume.  It  is 
only  possible  to  choose  those  incidents  which  by 
some  freak  of  chance  throw  light  upon  one  or  other 
of  the  singularly  dissimilar  facets  of  his  character. 

It  was  early  morning,  and  Ingham,  the  British 
and  acting  American  consul,  was  sitting  in  his 
office,  that  overlooked  the  white  town  which  was 
the  scene  of  his  activities,  and  the  dark  blue  Spanish 
sea  beyond  it.  Three  times  he  had  essayed  the 
report  that  lay  before  him,  and  on  each  occasion 
had  laid  down  his  pen  and  wandered  away  into 
anxious  thinking  upon  the  matter  in  hand. 

Ingham  was  a  slight  grey  man,  with  outstanding 
ears  and  a  frowning  habit  of  listening.  He  was 
credited  with  possessing  a  more  categorical  knowl- 
edge of  Don  Q.'s  methods  than  any  other  man  of 
official  standing  in  the  Peninsula.  Nor  was  this 
to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  it  had  seldom  been 
his  fate  to  send  a  single  report  to  headquarters  from 
which  the  name  of  the  brigand  was  entirely  absent. 
Nor  did  the  present  one  form  an  exception.  He  was 
retelling  the  now-familiar  story  of  capture,  but  never 

206 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  207 

before  had  any  case  included  the  pecuHarity  which 
added  poignancy  to  this  affair,  and  which  had  given 
the  consul  so  many  unhappy  days  and  nights  since 
the  demand  for  ransom  had  reached  him.  A  week 
earlier  a  letter  had  been  thrown  through  his  window, 
informing  him  that  a  large  sum  must  be  sent 
immediately  to  the  mountains  as  a  ransom  for  the 
persons  of  two  American  ladies,  the  senora  Lintner 
and  her  daughter,  who  had  been  captured  by  Don  Q. 

During  his  many  years  of  acquaintance  with  the 
procedure  of  Don  Q.  the  consul  had  never  known 
the  brigand  to  seize  or  to  demand  ransom  for  any 
save  members  of  the  sterner  sex.  So  that  while  the 
press  of  two  continents  buzzed  with  details,  Ingham 
found  himself  continually  lost  in  speculation  as  to 
the  meaning  of  this  new  departure.  He  was  by 
nature  a  conservative  man,  and  all  changes  troubled 
him. 

Thus  he  sat  in  his  office,  the  walls  of  which  had 
so  often  heard  the  narratives  of  the  various  released 
captives  of  Don  Q.,  and  wrote  with  minute  care; 
occasionally  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  sea  dotted 
with  the  sails  of  fishing-boats  aglow  in  the  rising 
sun;  occasionally  he  drew  inspiration  from  a  large 
map  of  the  sierras  Morena  and  Nevada,  which  hung 
beside  his  stove,  as,  true  to  the  traditions  of  his 
service,  he  tried  to  clothe  a  romantic  incident  in  the 
dryest  and  baldest  of  language.  He  had  just  em- 
barked upon  a  prosy  sentence,  when  there  came  a 
knock  at  the  door,  that  was  opened  at  oncc  from 


2o8  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

outside,  and  without  waiting  for  an  invitation  to 
enter,  a  Spanish  priest  in  blue  spectacles  stood  bow- 
ing at  the  opening. 

Ingham  raised  his  head  sharply.  "  I  gave  orders 
that  I  was  engaged,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. 
I  am  sorry,  father,  that  I  must  ask  you  to  postpone 
your  visit.'* 

But  the  priest  shut  the  door  behind  him  with  a 
firm  hand,  and  advanced  into  the  room,  his  som- 
brero pressed  against  the  breast  of  his  cassock,  and 
his  tonsured  head  bowed  low  above  it  in  courteous 
deprecation. 

"  I  infinitely  regret,  sefior,  but  my  business  is  of 
a  nature  that  will  not  brook  an  instant's  delay,"  and 
he  stood  waiting. 

Ingham's  habitual  frown  deepened;  he  had  a 
great  idea  of  the  dignity  attaching  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  Great  Britain,  but  even  he  could  not 
avoid  being  impressed  by  this  priest's  air  of  breed- 
ing and  command. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  a  seat.  "  May  I  ask  your 
name,   father  ?  " 

"  My  business  is  for  the  moment  more  important. 
It  is  connected  with  the  affair  of  the  senora  Lintner 
and  her  daughter." 

"  Who  have  been  captured  by  Don  Q.  ?  "  added 
Ingham. 

"  Pardon  me.  Who  are  said  to  have  been 
captured  by  Don  Q.,"  amended  the  other,  positively 
but  courteously. 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  209 

"  You  are  a  Spaniard,  father;  but  have  you  lived 
much  in  this  country  ?  " 

The  padre  opened  and  shut  his  hand  with  a  slight 
inclusive  gesture. 

"All  my  life,"  he  said. 

"  If  that  be  so,  may  I  ask  you  if  you  can  recall 
any  instance  of  holding  to  ransom  which  was  not 
one  of  Don  Q/s  achievements  ?  " 

"  But  very  few,  I  confess.  Yet  pray  allow  me  in 
my  turn  to  ask  you  a  question.  You  have  held 
this  office  for  many  years,  and  not  ten  consecutive 
months  of  any  of  those  years  can  have  passed  with- 
out your  having  had  business  dealings  with  Don 
Q.  Have  you  ever  known  him  take  a  woman 
prisoner  ?  " 

Ingham  leant  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  thought- 
ful frown.  "  No ;  the  capture  of  Mrs.  Lintner  and 
her  daughter  is  the  only  occasion  of  which  I  have 
official  knowledge." 

"  Or  unofficial,"  said  the  priest,  with  some 
warmth.  "  Then  pray,  seiior,  how  can  you  recon- 
cile his  present  action  with  such  a  past  ?  " 

The  British  consul  frowned  at  the  paper  before 
him.  **  Don  Q.'s  singular  courtesy  to  women  has 
always  been  the  most  paradoxical  trait  in  his 
character.  ...  I  suppose  that  he  is  now  growing 
old,  and  that  his  needs  press  more  heavily  upon 
him,"  he  said  hesitatingly.  "  He  may,  like  the  man- 
eating  tiger,  have  fallen  in  his  growing  feebleness  to 
make  a  prey  of  easier  victims." 
14 


2IO  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  Seiior,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  hold  that 
opinion?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Ingham;  "  it  is  the  only 
supposition  which  covers  the  fact." 

"  Then  you  think  he  is  no  longer  capable  of  those 
great  exploits  for  which  he  was  famed?  For  in- 
stance, have  you  never  feared  that  he  might  come 
and  seize  you  here  in  your  own  office?  " 

Ingham  permitted  himself  to  look  amused.  "  No," 
he  said,  *'  for  that  would  be  quite  impossible !  " 

"  Sefior,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  strike  upon 
your  bell  for  your  clerk,"  said  his  visitor. 

Ingham  was  surprised ;  he  read  annoyance  in  this 
abrupt  farewell.  He  touched  the  bell  sharply,  then 
rose  and  bowing  stiffly  to  the  stranger  resumed  his 
seat  and  his  work.  When  the  door  opened,  he  spoke, 
without  raising  his  eyes,  "  Esteban,  show  this  gentle- 
man the  way  to  the  street."  Having  said  this,  he 
went  on  writing,  but  as  no  sound  of  movement  fol- 
lowed his  order,  he  glanced  up  again  with  some  im- 
patience. The  sight  which  challenged  him  caused 
him  to  start  back.  A  huge,  gnarled  fellow,  whom 
he  had  never  seen  before,  stood  scowling  upon  the 
threshold. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  " 

The  man  made  no  reply,  but  evidently  waited 
upon  the  stranger's  bidding. 

"  You  can  go,  Caspar,"  said  that  personage,  in 
a  gentle  voice ;  and  when  the  door  closed  he  added : 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  211 

"An  unprepossessing  fellow,  sefior.  I  apologise  for 
his  startling  you.  Had  I  known  it  would  be  nec- 
essary to  call  him  in,  I  should  have  been  careful  to 
have  provided  the  most  presentable  of  the  half-dozen 
of  my  men  who  are  at  this  moment  admiring  the 
shrubs  in  your  patio/' 

"  Then  you  are  Don  Q. !  **  exclaimed  Ingham, 
springing  from  his  chair,  and  making  a  rush  for 
the  window  looking  into  the  street. 

But  in  a  twinkling  Don  Q.  was  before  him,  with 
raised  hand.  "  Pray  return  to  your  seat,  senor,  or 
I  may  be  forced  to  deal  with  you  in  a  manner  which, 
I  am  sure,  we  should  later  mutually  regret." 

Ingham  stared  at  the  hawk  nose,  the  fiery  eyes, 
from  which  the  smoked  glasses  had  been  removed, 
the  delicate,  somewhat  grotesque  form,  with  its 
amazing  swiftness  of  movement.  These  things, 
joined  to  the  courteous  manners  of  his  visitor,  all 
pointed  to  one  conclusion.  The  brigand,  as  if  read- 
ing his  thoughts,  made  a  slight  inclination  of  his 
head.  "  Senor,  allow  me  the  honour  of  presenting 
myself  to  you  under  my  nom-de- guerre  (shall  we 
say?)  of  Don  Q.  Let  us  now  resume  our  discus- 
sion as  good  friends." 

Ingham  sank  back  into  his  place  by  the  table. 
"Are  you  aware,"  he  said,  "of  the  risk  you  are 
running?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  the  brigand,  with  some  sad- 
ness. "  There  is  a  price  upon  my  head,  and  the  first 
carbineer  or  civile  who  chanced  to  recognise  me 


212  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

would  no  doubt  attempt  to  shoot  me  on  sight.  I 
venture  now  to  hope,  sefior,  that  you  no  longer  do 
me  the  injustice  to  believe  that  I  have  relinquished 
the  high  standard  of  my  whole  career,  or  that  I 
have  had  anything  to  do  with  the  capture  of  these 
American  ladies?  " 

Ingham  hesitated  judicially.  "  Can  you  prove 
it?" 

*'  But  easily.  Since  I  am  here  at  the  risk  of  my 
life  to  offer  you  my  aid  in  the  matter !  " 

"One  moment,"  said  the  consul,  and,  taking  a 
piece  of  paper  from  under  a  weight  on  his  desk, 
he  passed  it  to  Don  Q.  "  How  do  you  explain 
that?"  he  said. 

The  brigand  read  it  aloud: 

"To  THE  Senor  Don  Ricardo  Ingham — 

"  We,  the  bandoleros  of  the  sierra,  have  captured 
two  ladies,  the  Sefiora  Lintner  and  her  daughter. 
We  demand  a  ransom  of  £3000  for  each  of  the 
women.  A  man  on  a  black  horse  will  be  on  the 
bridle-path  that  leads  to  the  shrine  of  San  Juan  on 
this  day  of  next  week.  If  any  attempt  is  made  to 
seize  our  messenger,  or  if  the  ransom  does  not 
arrive  in  good  time,  both  prisoners  will  immediately 
be  put  to  death.  Don  Q." 

"A  very  clear  communication,"  commented 
Ingham. 

Don  Q.   leaped  to  his  feet.   "  Did  you  actually 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  213 

believe,  senor,  that  it  was  I — I  who  wrote  this  ?  " 
He  tapped  the  paper  with  his  cane. 

"  If  it  be  a  forgery,  who  did  write  it  ?  *' 

"  I  do  not  know  yet." 

"But  you  will  find  out?" 

"  Be  quite  sure  that  I  will,"  replied  Don  Q.  A 
savage  energy  vitalised  the  slender  figure.  "  On 
what  day  will  the  ransom  fall  due?  " 

The  old  careworn  expression  flashed  back  over 
the  consul's  face.  "  To-day,"  he  said,  "  and  there 
you  have  the  horror  of  it,  for  I  have,  so  far,  only 
received  four  thousand  of  the  amount  " — he  touched 
unconsciously  a  sealed  packet  that  lay  close  beside 
him — "  and  I  have  now  no  time  left  to  collect  more." 

"  That  will  be  sufficient,"  said  Don  Q.  as  with  a 
rapid  action  he  took  up  the  envelope  from  the  table. 

Ingham  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  muzzle  of  Don  Q.*s  revolver. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  It  means,  senor,"  said  Don  Q.,  "  that  I  will  now 
take  over  the  conduct  of  this  affair,  and  since  I  am 
to  help  you,  you  must  permit  me  to  act  as  your 
messenger." 

"  This  course  is  most  unorthodox,"  protested 
Ingham. 

"  But  I  trust  it  will  on  that  account,"  replied  the 
brigand,  "  be  none  the  less  efficacious." 


CHAPTER     XXVI 

HOW    DON    Q.    BECAME    A    SQUIRE    OF   DAMES 

(contmued) 

Don  Q.  had  been  riding  fast  for  several  hours,  but 
he  was  light  and  wiry,  and  fatigue  seemed  to  have 
no  power  over  the  iron  sinews  of  his  small  frame. 
Already  he  was  far  upon  the  tree-darkened  bridle- 
path that  would  take  him  within  easy  distance  of  his 
destination.  All  day  his  mind  had  worked  back  and 
forth  upon  the  problem  of  his  mission.  All  day 
he  had  been  filled  with  an  extraordinary  resentment 
against  those  who  had  committed  what  he  considered 
to  be  a  most  monstrous  crime.  That  they  should 
have  captured  women  was  enough,  but  that  they 
should  have  done  this  atrocious  act  under  cover  of 
his  own  name  was  an  injury  to  his  high  reputation 
which  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  the  brigand  to 
forgive.  He  was  perforce  acquainted  with  many  of 
the  shady  characters  of  Spain,  yet  sift  out  the  list 
as  he  might,  no  name  more  likely  than  another 
presented  itself  to  his  intelligence. 

The  fierce  and  reckless  courage  which  was  so 
prominent  a  trait  in  his  character  had  rarely  showed 
in  stronger  relief  than  it  did  on  this  occasion,  against 
the  dangers  and  possibilities  which  formed  the  back- 
ground of  this  lonely  journey.  He  changed  his 
mount  twice  upon  the  road,  and  so  it  came  that 

214 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  215 

evening  was  beginning  to  close  in  when  the  slender 
padre,  riding  upon  a  mule,  found  himself  in  a  land 
of  wild  heath  that  sloped  gently  upwards,  with 
here  and  there  shallow  upland  pools,  from  amongst 
the  reeds  of  which  rose  the  constant  plash  and  cry 
of  wildfowl. 

During  the  afternoon  he  had  seen  far  off  a  few 
solitary  huts  of  shepherds,  and  later,  now  and  then, 
the  ruddy  glow  of  a  charcoal-burner's  fire.  But  all 
the  time  his  mind  ran  in  the  same  jarring  groove  of 
surmises,  and  he  was  shaken  by  little  gusts  of  passion 
that  individuals  could  be  found  of  so  hardy  a  type 
that  they  should  dare  to  drag  him  into  the  network 
of  their  schemes. 

The  game,  which  for  the  sake  of  the  captured 
women  he  must  play  lone-handed,  was  one  of  enor- 
mous risk,  if  only  because  of  the  fact  that  he  carried 
a  bare  two-thirds  of  the  ransom  demanded.  More- 
over, he  could  make  no  guess  at  the  number  or  the 
identity  of  his  opponents. 

But  now  the  end  of  his  ride  was  near,  and  the 
pale,  clean-shaven  face  of  the  padre  bore  an  expres- 
sion almost  approaching  docility.  As  the  dark 
woods  by  the  side  of  the  road  closed  in  about  him, 
and  his  mule  ambled  from  one  black  patch  of  shadow 
into  another,  his  thin  tenor  was  raised  in  the  notes  of 
Latin  canticles. 

Such  was  the  personage  that  met  the  astonished 
gaze  of  a  masked  man  on  a  black  horse,  who  stood 
waiting  in  the  shadow  of  an  ilex-grove.     As  the 


2i6  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

priest  approached  he  spurred  his  horse  out  across  the 
road. 

The  padre  drew  up  his  mule,  and  raised  his  eyes 
meekly,  but  without  timidity. 

"  I  think,  my  son,  that  you  are  expecting  me. 
No?" 

The  man  on  the  horse  stared  the  harder.  **  I 
am  expecting  someone,"  he  said,  "  but  not — " 

The  padre  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Ah,  you  men 
of  blood ! "  he  sighed.  "  Nevertheless,  I  am  the 
messenger  of  sefior  Don  Ricardo  Ingham." 

"And  you  have  the  money  ?  " 

"  It  is  true  that  I  carry  some  money — for  your 
master." 

"  He  can't  call  himself  that !  "  said  the  young 
man  roughly,  "  though  he  could  trust  none  of  them 
but  me,"  he  grumbled  to  himself.  "  Turn  your 
mule,  padre;  the  captain  orders  you  to  pay  the 
ransom  into  his  own  hand,  and  the  women  will  be 
given  up  to  you." 

"  I  am  ready,  my  son,  lead  the  way,"  replied  the 
priest. 

The  horseman  looked  again  at  the  slight  figure 
upon  the  mule,  then,  as  if  reassured  by  his  inspection, 
without  more  words  he  rode  slowly  down  the  road. 
The  padre  upon  his  mule  ambled  behind,  and  as  he 
rode  he  chanted  in  a  low  voice  the  music  of  his 
Church. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  they  had  passed  through 
a  chain  of  low  hills,  and  emerged  upon  a  district 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  217 

which  the  brigand  had  rarely  visited,  and  through 
which  he  had  never  before  ridden  in  the  dark.  The 
night  had  now  fallen  duskily,  with  a  hollow  moon 
and  many  stars  in  a  ckar  sky.  Once  or  twice  the 
guide  paused  as  if  uncertain  of  his  direction,  and 
then,  with  a  glance  at  the  Great  Bear,  by  which  he 
was  evidently  steering  his  way,  he  pressed  forward 
again.  Heath  and  forest,  swamp  and  mountain- 
spur  slipped  past  half  seen  in  the  gloom  of  the  deep- 
ening hours.  Not  for  a  moment  had  the  padre  re- 
laxed his  attitude  of  vigilant  alertness,  noting  to  the 
best  of  his  power  the  landmarks  of  the  way. 

At  length  they  dropped  between  two  converging 
lines  of  trees  like  a  tunnel,  at  the  end  of  which  a 
dark  bluish  circle  of  sky  showed  faintly;  against 
this  the  triangle  of  the  guide's  head  and  shoulders 
jogged  monotonously  for  a  long  time,  until  at 
length  he  swung  abruptly  to  the  right,  and  the  padre 
found  himself  in  the  gloom  of  a  thick  wood.  They 
moved  through  this  slowly,  but  before  long  came 
upon  a  low,  widespread  house,  that  Don  Q.  guessed 
to  be  the  remains  of  some  ancient  Moorish  dwelling- 
place. 

The  guide  dismounted,  and  bade  the  padre  tie  up 
his  mule;  then,  giving  a  curious  knock  upon  the 
door,  he  pushed  the  priest  whom  he  was  escorting 
across  the  end  of  the  vast  darkroom,  and  so  through 
a  door,  with  a  gruff  word  that  he  could  keep  the 
women  company  until  the  captain's  orders  were 
known. 


2i8  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

The  priest  stood  still  for  a  moment.  A  rushlight 
upon  the  floor  gave  a  faint  illumination  to  the 
small  chamber  with  its  rough  stone  walls,  in  the 
far  comer  of  which  he  saw  a  woman  sitting  with 
her  back  to  him.  At  her  feet  a  young  girl  knelt, 
whose  bright,  long  hair  seemed  the  only  spot  of 
radiance  in  the  gloomy  place. 

The  padre  crossed  the  room,  but  the  woman 
remained  with  her  head  averted.  He  gently  laid 
his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

She  looked  up  with  a  suppressed  cry. 

"  Have  no  fear,  my  daughter,  I  have  come  to 
your  aid,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  am  the  messenger 
of  the  Consul." 

Mrs.  Lintner  touched  his  arm  as  if  to  assure  her- 
self that  this  was  not  a  dream,  then  she  broke  down 
into  sobbing. 

"You  have  been  ill-used,  I  fear?" 

"  Oh,  father,  we  have  endured  much,  we  have 
endured  much!  This  Don  Q.  is  a  cruel,  oh,  a 
horrible  man ! " 

The  padre  started  violently. 

"You  are  only  just  in  time!"  she  whispered, 
glancing  at  the  door.  "  If  you  had  arrived  half- 
an-hour  later,  I  don't  know  what  would  have  be- 
come of  Flora  and  of  me.  He  threatened  us  in  a 
dreadful  manner ! " 

The  priest  brooded  for  a  moment  wrath  fully. 
"  Well,  well,  I  shall  see  the  colour  of  his  blood 
before  the  morning ! "  he  said  reassuringly ;  then, 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  219 

seeing  the  scared  look  coming  back  to  Mrs.  Lint- 
ner's  face,  he  added :  "  Our  time  is  short,  my 
daughter,  I  must  know  some  particulars  about  this 
person  in  order  that  I  may  be  able  to  deal  with  him 
the  more  effectually.  What  is  he  like?  I  have 
heard  that  Don  Q.  is  a  man  of  certain  presence, 
and  carries  himself  with  something  of  the  noble 
manner." 

*'  Oh,  no,  no!  People  say  that  in  the  plains,  but 
it  is  not  true.  I  don't  know  what  he  may  once  have 
been,  but  now  he  is  a  violent,  brutal  boor,  without, 
I  believe,  a  human  feeling  left." 

The  priest's  hands  worked  in  uncontrollable 
excitement.  "  Don  Q.  a  violent  boor ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  But  this  is  indeed  abominable !  What  is 
the  aspect  of  this  creature  ?  " 

"  He  is  tall  and  very  strong,  with  a  red  beard 
and  threatening  eyes.  But  you  will  see  him.  I  pray 
he  may  not  kill  you,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Lintner. 

"  Courage,  courage,  dear  lady,"  the  padre  said 
kindly,  and  the  young  girl,  looking  up  suddenly  at 
the  slight,  cassock-clad  figure,  seemed  to  find  con- 
fidence in  his  face,  for  she  seized  his  hand  and 
covered  it  with  kisses.  "  He  will  save  us,  mother, 
I  know  that  he  will  save  us.  Oh,  padre,  take  us 
away  from  this  place  or  I  shall  die !  " 

"  Be  very  brave,  my  child.  I  will  do  what  I  can. 
Hark !  they  are  calling  me."  He  moved  away  from 
them  and  passed  quickly  round  the  walls.  Finding 
a  hole  in  the  ancient  stonework,  he  plunged  his 


220  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

hand  deeply  into  it,  and  then  stcx>d  ready  to  accom- 
pany his  guide,  who  threw  open  the  door  and  called 
to  him  in  a  surly  voice : 
"  The  captain  wants  you." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

HOW    DON    Q.    BECAME    A    SQUIRE    OF   DAMES 

(continued) 

Don  Q.,  resuming  his  air  of  gentle  amiability, 
walked  back  into  the  great  room  through  which 
he  had  come.  It  was  now  lit  at  the  further  end 
by  a  hrazero  of  glowing  charcoal,  about  which  four 
men  were  sitting,  their  faces  painted  against  the 
dark  in  red  light  and  black  shadow.  Don  Q.  saw 
now  what  manner  of  foes  he  had  to  face.  These 
were  not  lawless  or  outlawed  peasants,  such  as 
was  the  man  they  had  sent  to  meet  him ;  in  fact,  he 
judged  them  to  be  not  Spaniards  at  all,  but  those 
cosmopolitan  scoundrels,  often  broken  men  whose 
intelligence  makes  them  the  more  dangerous,  who 
drift  from  city  to  city,  living  by  their  wits  and 
primed  to  the  most  desperate  enterprises. 

Don  Q.'s  eyes  hardly  swept  over  the  others,  but 
they  fixed  themselves  upon  the  man  whose  cloak  and 
sombrero  left  little  of  him  visible  except  his  heavy 
frame  and  short  red  beard. 

**  Here,  you,  Dwyer,"  ordered  this  personage  in 
bad  Spanish,  "  throw  a  bit  of  bark  on  the  brazier, 
and  let  us  see  this  fellow." 

One  of  the  men  obeyed,  and  while  the  bark  flared 
up,  it  showed  not  only  the  unshaven  faces  of  the 
men  dirty  and  bloodshot,  but  a  great  circle  of 
empty  space  behind  them ;  yet,  so  huge  was  the  room, 

221 


222  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

that  darkness  still  found  an  abiding-place  in  all 
its  corners.  It  did  not  take  Don  Q.  a  second  to 
realise  that  he  was  in  one  of  those  old  Moorish 
dwellings  from  which  Tarik  may  have  ridden  forth 
to  battle,  and  over  which  a  thousand  years  has  small 
power.  While  thinking  this,  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
bowed  gravely  and  ceremoniously  to  the  group  be- 
fore him. 

The  redbeard  stood  up  and,  with  a  burlesque 
flourish,  took  off  his  hat  in  reply.  The  face  thus 
shown  was  remarkable;  it  shone  with  that  exag- 
gerated pallor  which  sometimes  accompanies  dark 
red  hair;  the  man's  beard  did  not  cover  his  big 
thrust-out  underlip,  which  added  a  savage  emphasis 
to  his  jeering  eyes. 

"I  am  el  capitan,"  he  said;  "let  us  hear  your 
name." 

"  I,  sefior  capitan,  am  but  a  poor  servant  of  the 
Church,  and  sent  by  the  Consul  Ingham  to  represent 
him." 

"  That  is  enough.  You  have  brought  the  ransom. 
Hand  it  over  that  I  may  count  it,  for  if  it  be  a  peseta 
short—" 

The  priest  spread  out  his  hands.  "  But  the  ladies 
have  not  yet  been  set  at  liberty,"  he  remonstrated 
urbanely. 

"  Certainly  not.  The  preliminaries  must  first  be 
gone  through.  When  I  have  the  money,  they  shall 
be  set  free.    Hand  it  over.    Do  you  hear?  " 

"  But  perfectly,  senor.    Yet  I  fear  I  cannot  hand 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  223 

over  the  ransom  unless  my  instructions  be  first  com- 
plied with." 

"  Let  us  hear  your  instructions." 

"  That  the  ladies  be  .permitted  to  set  out  for  Mal- 
aga under  proper  escort,  and  that,  having  given 
them  two  hours'  start,  I  then  place  the  ransom  in 
the  hands  of  Don  Q.,  and  receive  an  acquittance 
from  him." 

The  captain  held  his  hat  on  his  hip  with  one  hand 
while  he  snapped  the  fingers  of  the  other.  "  That 
for  your  instructions ! "  he  said. 

"  Sefior  capitan,  I  am  solemnly  pledged  to  carry 
through  this  arrangement,"  expostulated  the  padre. 

"  We  cannot  linger  here  all  night,"  roared  the 
captain.     "  Hand  over  the  money  without  delay." 

"  I  fear  it  is  impossible,"  returned  the  priest  with 
a  gentle  obstinacy  that  accorded  with  his  cloth. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  think  it  impossible  when 
you  realise  your  position  more  exactly.  It  seems  to 
me  that  we  can  take  the  ransom  from  your  dead 
body  with  precisely  the  same  ease  as  from  your 
living  hand.  You  crow  too  loudly,  my  little  cock 
of  Spain ! " 

An  extraordinary  change  swept  over  the  face  of 
the  priest. 

"  Corpse  of  a  scullion !  "  he  cried.  "  You  are  one 
of  those  men  whom  it  is  good  theology  to  kill !  " 

So  appalling  was  the  rancour  and  energy  of  the 
attenuated  figure,  that  the  other  men  leaped  up  to 
intervene.    But  the  priest  recovered  himself  quickly. 


224  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  There,  there,  sefior  capitan,  forgive  my  hast- 
iness. My  hot  temper  makes  my  life  a  prolonged 
penance.  I  trust  I  did  not  alarm  you."  He  included 
the  jvhole  party  in  his  apology. 

"  Curse  your  obstinacy !  You  won't  give  up  the 
money?    Is  that  your  last  word?  " 

"It  is  my  last  word,  save  that  even  should  you 
succeed  in  killing  me,  you  would  not  obtain  the 
ransom." 

"  Then  you  have  not  brought  it?  "  exclaimed  the 
captain,  handling  the  knife  in  his  belt. 

"  You  mistake.  I  merely  took  the  precaution  of 
hiding  it.  How  else  could  a  poor  churchman  inforce 
these  demands  upon  you?" 

"  What  if  we  kill  you  and  the  women  too?  " 

"As  to  that,  we  men  of  the  cassock  live  to  die. 
The  ladies,  alas! — ^but  I  will  not  for  a  moment 
believe  that  you  gentlemen  of  much  business  ability 
will  lose  so  large  a  stake  for  the  want  of  a  little 
acquiescence  with  the  British  consul's  demands." 

The  big  man  reflected.  "  Dwyer,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, "  question  Carmelito  as  to  the  place  where 
this  fellow  hid  the  money.  He  must  have  noticed 
something." 

But  Carmelito,  coming  in  from  doing  sentry  out- 
side, pleaded  that  the  night  was  dark,  and  that  the 
padre  had  ridden  all  the  way  behind  hinx 

"  Lose  no  more  time,  sefior  capitan,  I  implore 
you,"  said  the  priest.  "  Without  my  aid  you  will 
in  truth  never  find  the  ransom.     Bring  forth  the 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  225 

ladies  and  send  them  as  far  as  the  high  road  to 
Malaga  in  charge  of  this  excellent  Carmelito,  and 
two  hours  after  their  departure,  by  my  watch,  it 
will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  produce  the  ransom 
and  to  settle  up  all  outstanding  details  in  a  manner 
that  will,  I  trust,  be  satisfactory  to  at  least  one  of 
us." 

"  What  guarantee  have  we  that  you  will  carry  out 
your  part  of  the  bargain  ?  " 

"  The  honour  of  a  gentleman  of  Spain.  And 
reflect  that  in  case  I  do  not  satisfy  you,  shall  I  not 
still  be  in  your  power? 

The  captain  and  his  companions  consulted  for 
some  minutes  in  low  tones.  It  amused  Don  Q.  to 
see  the  glances  cast  at  him.  After  some  discussion, 
the  big  man  gave  his  orders,  Carmelito  brought 
horses  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Lintner  and  her  daughter 
were  mounted  without  being  allowed  to  speak  to  the 
padre,  though  the  girl  looked  back  at  him  and 
kissed  her  hand,  and  soon  Don  Q.  heard  the  hoof- 
beats  of  the  little  cavalcade  dying  away  in  the 
distance. 

The  four  remaining  men  stood  about  the  door, 
and  for  an  instant  a  temptation  assailed  the  brigand. 
He  would  have  been  more  than  human  had  it  not 
done  so.  His  enemies  were  four  to  one,  but  here 
was  a  chance  for  freedom,  yet  he  must  redeem  his 
word.  On  his  personal  danger  he  wasted  no 
thought,  for  with  every  year  the  belief  in  him 
strengthened  that  he  would  not  die  until  certain 
15 


226  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

matters  which  he  had  at  heart  were  brought  to 
their  appointed  conclusion. 

None  of  the  men  went  out  to  keep  watch  in  place 
of  Carmelito ;  the  whole  four  clustered  back  together 
to  sit  sullenly  by  the  brazero.  The  position  was 
too  strained  for  silence,  and  soon  such  talk  began  to 
circulate  that  the  priest  begged  leave  to  sit  apart  on 
the  plea  that  he  wished  to  pursue  certain  pious 
meditations.  After  some  wrangling  this  was  per- 
mitted, and  whenever  the  scowling  syndicate  by  the 
brazero  looked  round  they  could  see  the  mild  padre 
with  his  breviary  in  his  hand  and  his  lips  moving. 
Only  once  as  the  time  dragged  on  was  he  directly 
addressed.  Then  the  captain  cried  out  to  know 
what  he  was  doing,  and  the  answer  came  back  from 
the  padre  that  he  was  engaged  in  praying  for  the 
repose  of  their  souls. 

Slowly  the  minutes  filtered  by.  A  storm  was 
beginning  to  rise,  and  the  trees  creaked  and  sobbed 
under  the  gale.  The  charcoal  falling  low  in  the 
brazier  was  constantly  renewed,  and  still  the  un- 
seemly talk  and  brutal  laughter  occupied  the  group 
about  it. 

So  it  happened  that  Don  Q.  was  the  first  to  hear 
a  shout  in  the  wood  and  the  sound  of  horses  gallop- 
ing furiously.  A  second  later  they  all  sprang  to 
their  feet,  for  a  man  struck  upon  the  door  with  a 
wild  cry. 

"The  Guardias  Civiles!  The  Civilcs  are  upon 
us!*' 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  227 

The  men  made  a  dash  for  the  open,  and  the 
captain,  with  a  curse,  fired  as  he  ran  at  the  corner 
where  the  padre  had  withdrawn  for  his  devotions. 

But  with  the  earHest  alarm  Don  Q.  had  darted 
into  the  inner  room.  In  a  second  he  reappeared  and 
stood  listening  to  the  fight  outside.  He  heard  the 
trampling  of  horses  and  the  quick  fusillade  of  a 
running  encounter,  then  a  groan  or  two,  and  the 
voice  of  the  officer  in  command  giving  sharp  orders. 
There  was  a  lull  and  then  again  the  noise  of  the 
battle  boiled  up  into  the  night. 

Don  Q.,  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  stood  beside 
the  open  door.  The  wind  roared  in  the  trees  over- 
head, when  suddenly  the  big  red-bearded  man 
rushed  back  into  the  house. 

"  Curse  you !    You  betrayed  us,"  he  cried. 

But  Don  Q.  knocked  up  his  hand.  "  You  fool ! 
I  did  not  betray  you !  "  he  said,  "  and  I  will  hide  you 
now.  Quick,  into  the  place  where  the  women  were ! 
The  civiles  are  coming.  Quick,  it  is  your  only 
chance." 

The  big  man  listened  to  the  running  footsteps  and 
voices  growing  louder. 

"  I  must  trust  you,"  he  snarled,  and  vanished 
into  the  inner  room.  Don  Q.  pushed  to  the  outer 
door,  and  when  the  first  man  in  pursuit  thrust 
it  open  he  found  the  fragile-looking  padre  sitting 
by  the  brazero  with  his  hands  clasped  tightly 
over  his  ears.  He  strode  up  and  touched  him  on 
the  arm. 


228  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  One  of  the  villains  broke 
back/' 

"  Broke  back  into  this  room  ?  "  repeated  the  padre 
in  astonishment.  "  Had  he  come  here,  I  must 
assuredly  have  seen  him.    You  are  the  lieutenant  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  the  Carbineers.  I  am  glad  we  were  in 
time,  father.  The  sefiora  Lintner  told  us  of  your 
danger." 

The  priest  raised  his  hands.  "Ah,  the  ladies,  are 
they  safe?" 

"  Yes,  we  met  them  by  chance  as  I  was  marching 
with  some  of  my  own  men  and  a  couple  of  civiles. 
The  fellow  who  was  with  her  bolted  at  once  to 
give  the  alarm  here  I  suppose.  We  galloped  after 
him.  You  are  a  brave  man  padre,  although  you 
stopped  your  ears,"  said  the  young  lieutenant  with 
a  smile. 

''  The  sounds  of  violence  are  terrifying,  my  son. 
Have  you  seized  these  unhappy  men  ?  " 

"  One  is  killed,  and  we  have  taken  two,  both 
wounded.     But  the  red-haired  fellow  ran  back." 

The  padre  got  stiffly  upon  his  feet.  "  He  is  skulk- 
ing among  the  trees,  perhaps,"  and  he  accompanied 
the  lieutenant  to  the  door. 

"  I  will  come  back  for  you,  padre." 

"  No,  no  my  son,  do  not  let  me  detain  you.  I 
will  sit  here  and  regain  my  composure,  and  later 
I  will  take  my  mule  and  ride  back  into  Castellano." 
As  he  spoke  his  eyes  took  on  a  concentrated  stare 
as  he  pointed  out  into  the  windy  dark.     **  There, 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  229 

there,  do  you  not  seen  him  ?  There !  he  is  running, 
the  big  red-beard." 

The  lieutenant  waited  for  no  more;  he  raced  out 
among  the  trees,  call  answered  call  in  the  gloom, 
the  Carbineers  were  systematically  searching  the 
wood,  but  after  a  time  as  they  drew  blank,  they 
carried  away  their  prisoners,  and  the  padre  sat 
down  alone  by  the  glow  of  the  brazier.  Outside  the 
wind  still  rocked  in  the  trees  and  showers  of  rain 
beat  upon  the  old  Moorish  walls.  But  through  the 
confusion  of  outer  sounds  the  padre  heard  a  slight 
stir  within.    He  lifted  his  head. 

"  Why  do  you  not  come  out,  seiior  capitan?  "  he 
said.    "  The  civiles  are  gone,  and  I  am  quite  alone." 

The  big  man  slunk  cautiously  into  the  circle  of 
glowing  light.  "  Why  did  you  not  give  me  up  to 
the  Carbineers  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  padre  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Because  the  settle- 
ment between  us  had  yet  to  be  accomplished." 

"  Some  cursed  notion  of  your  honour,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  jeered  the  other. 

"  Exactly,  some  cursed  notion  of  my  honour. 
Now  let  us  finish  our  business.  First,  I  must 
tell  you  that  one  of  your  companions  is  dead,  the 
others  have  been  wounded  and  taken  away  as 
prisoners." 

The  big  man  laughed  indifferently.  "  Which  is 
none  the  worse  luck  for  me,"  he  said.  "  In  a  syn- 
dicate the  survivor  is  heir." 

The  priest  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket.    "  This 


230  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

is,  I  understand,  the  demand  for  the  ransom  sent  in 
by  Don  Q.     And  who  are  you,  sefior  capitan?  " 

"  I  represent  Don  Q.  Come,  if  you  keep  me 
waiting — "  he  plucked  a  knife  from  his  belt. 

"  Will  you  look  at  this  ?  "  said  the  padre,  offering 
the  paper  he  held  to  his  companion. 

The  big  man  leant  towards  the  bfazero  to  read  it. 
It  was  the  original  demand,  and  written  across  the 
bottom  in  a  neat  angular  hand  were  the  words: 
"  Received  £6000, 

(signed)    *' Don  Q." 

"  What  fooling  is  this  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  violent 
movement.     "Is  this  your  good  faith?" 

The  padre  sprang  back  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
blow  and  then  el  capitan  saw  that  he  held  a 
revolver. 

"  You  dared  to  make  use  of  my  name  for  your 
vile  purposes,"  he  said,  his  voice  was  low  as  before, 
but  the  tone  was  changed,  "  and  now  you  would 
further  dare  to  question  my  right  of  signature?  " 

The  great  red-bearded  man  drew  in  his  breath 
through  his  teeth.  "  Well,"  he  answered,  with  a 
fierce  laugh,  "  you  are  a  master-hand,  Don  Q. — ^yet 
I  deserve  something." 

"  True,  you  deserve  something." 

The  big  man  broke  into  fulsome  speech,  but  all 
the  while  he  was  watching  his  opponent  narrowly. 
Suddenly  he  kicked  over  the  brazero:  at  the  same 
instant  a  shot  rang  out. 

Five  minutes  later  the  padre  upon  his  mule  met 


DON  Q.  AS  A  SQUIRE  OF  DAMES  231 

with  a  pair  of  civiles  in  the  wood,  and  exchanged 
a  word  or  two  with  them  before  he  rode  on,  a  dark 
figure  against  the  lemon-coloured  dawn  which  had 
burned  up  behind  the  ilex  trees. 

Upon  the  following  day  Ingham  found  upon  his 
office  table  a  packet  which  he  recognised.  It  bore 
an  inscription: 

"  With  the  compliments  of  the  padre  to  whom 
Don  Ricardo  did  the  honour  of  intrusting  a  delicate 
and  an  illustrious  mission." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

HOW    DON    Q.    ATTENDED    A    BULL-FIGHT 

The  return  of  the  milder  seasons  was  always 
welcome  to  Don  Q.,  partly  because  his  frail  health 
strengthened  in  the  warmth,  but  rather  perhaps 
because  his  solitude  was  more  apt  to  be  broken  by 
events,  by  comings  and  goings  to  and  from  the 
world  he  had  so  long  forsaken. 

With  the  spring  he  journeyed  to  the  lower  levels, 
camping  in  lonely  spots  but  yet  within  touch  of  the 
varied  life  of  the  plains.  It  was  on  one  of  these 
excursions  that  he  received  a  visitor,  long  known  to 
him  but  whose  fear  was  very  evident  as  she  trod 
lightly  over  the  carpet  of  pine-needles. 

The  young  girl  stood  full  in  the  patch  of  sun- 
shine, trembling.  Suddenly  she  stretched  out  an 
eloquent,  sunburnt  hand. 

"  I  have  come,**  she  said,  "  to  seek  help  from  my 
lord  of  the  mountains.** 

Don  Q.,  withdrawn  under  the  shadow  of  the  pine- 
trees  beside  a  smouldering  fire,  glanced  at  her. 

"  Why  should  I  help  you  ?  **  he  asked. 

Her  tear-filled  eyes  brimmed  over,  and  her  lovely 
face  grew  whiter. 

"  My  lord,  I  am  Valentina !  **  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  know  it.    You  are  she  to  whom  the  gracious 
duquesa  d'Orava  gave  the  prize  as  being  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  the  province.*' 
282 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         233 

"  Yes,  lord,"  sobbed  the  girl,  as  if  admitting  a 
crime. 

"  You  are,  moreover,  that  blue-eyed,  black-haired 
Valentina,  for  whose  sake  many  fingers  have 
touched  the  guitar?" 

"  Yes,  lord,"  she  confessed  as  piteously  as  before. 
Then  she  broke  out  with  passion.  "  But  I  loved 
only  Sebastian !  " 

Don  Q.  lit  a  cigarette.    "And  this  Sebastian?  " 

"  He  is  gone,  lord !  Three  days  ago  he  disap- 
peared, and  we  were  to  have  been  married  on  Sun- 
day, the  day  of  the  corrida  at  Zurcanez.  If  my  lord 
will  condescend  to  hear  me.  .  .  .  My  life  is 
broken!" 

"  I  do  not  forget  those  persons  who  have  per- 
formed services  for  me,  and  you  are  one  of  them, 
Valentina,"  said  Don  Q.  "  Speak,  then ;  afterwards 
you  can  weep,  if  it  be  still  necessary." 

The  girl  clasped  her  hands  on  her  heaving  bosom, 
and  plunged  into  the  story  of  her  wrongs. 

"  Sebastian  was  a  herder  of  bulls  on  the  estate  of 
his  excellency  the  Count  of  Zurcanez.  But  he  had  a 
great  ambition." 

**  In  what  direction  did  this  ambition  lie?  " 

"  Lord,  he  desired  to  become  a  matador,  an 
espada;  he  was  so  strong  and  so  brave!  " 

Don  Q.  waved  his  hand  impatiently.  "  Con- 
tinue." 

"  Sebastian  and  his  father,  and  also,  as  far  back 
as  the  oldest  can  remember,  his  people  have  lived  on 


I 


234  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  hither  side  of  the  plain  of  Zurcanez,  near  to  the 
Marisma  de  los  Antiguos.  Always  they  have  served 
the  Counts  of  Zurcanez,  guarding  and  driving  the 
great  herds  of  bulls.  For,  as  my  lord  knows,  the 
fame  of  the  black  fighting  bulls  of  Zurcanez  has 
spread  over  the  entire  world.  Never  is  there  a 
corrida  of  mark  in  the  plasa  de  toros,  whether 
it  be  in  Granada,  or  Seville,  or  Madrid,  but  a  black 
bull  of  Zurcanez  tosses  his  spears  in  the  sunlight 
of  the  arena." 

"  You  wander  from  your  story,"  interrupted  Don 
Q.,  gently;  "but  I  will  pardon  you,  although  as 
concerning  the  bulls  of  Zurcanez  I  have  forgotten 
more  than  you  can  ever  learn.  They  are  truly  of 
a  noble  breed.    But  I  wait." 

"As  I  have  told  my  lord,  Sebastian  and  his  fore- 
fathers have  been  ever  in  the  service  of  the  black 
bulls.  It  is  they  who  have  watched  them  on  the 
marches ;  it  is  they  who  have  driven  them,  led  by  the 
bells  of  the  trained  oxen,  to  the  bull-rings.  More 
than  a  hundred  men  are  ganaderos  upon  the  estate, 
and  all  of  them  love  their  work.  Alas!  only  four 
days  ago  life  was  happy  for  Sebastian ! " 

"  You  lose  time." 

"  Forgive  me,  lord,  but  you  must  know  all,"  said 
the  girl,  pleadingly.  "  During  the  winter  that  is 
past  his  excellency  died.  Has  my  lord  not  heard 
how,  when  he  lay  sick  at  the  estancia  of  Zurcanez, 
he  commanded  them  to  throw  open  the  window, 
and  those  that  were  with  him  supported  him  to  the 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         235 

embrasure,  in  order  that  he  might  once  more  see 
the  sun  shine  on  the  bright  black  sides  of  the  tried 
bulls,  which  at  that  moment,  by  chance  or  by  order, 
passed  slowly  across  the  vega  before  his  eyes. 
Thereafter,  in  a  little  while  his  excellency  died,  and 
we  upon  the  estate,  for  my  father  is  also  of  Zur- 
canez,  lost  a  good  master  and  gained  a  bad  one." 

Don  Q.  frowned.  "  But  I  have  heard  good  things 
of  the  young  Count  Ferdinand." 

"All  that  you  heard  is  true,  lord,  but  he  loves 
to  voyage  far  across  the  sea.  And  in  his  place  the 
seiior  Don  Jaime  del  Monte  rules  at  Zurcanez, 
Lately,  at  the  due  season  for  the  trials  of  the  young 
bulls,  Don  Jaime  came  from  Madrid.  I  saw  him 
when  the  herds  were  gathered." 

"Ah !  and  Don  Jaime  saw  you,  Valentina.  I  have 
heard  that  every  pretty  woman  interests  him." 

"  It  was  thus  Sebastian  spoke  of  him,  lord," 
faltered  Valentina,  "  for  he  has  the  jealous  eyes  of 
a  lover.  But  I  dwell  far  from  the  casa  on  the  edge 
of  the  Marisma,  in  a  place  which  it  is  not  good  to 
approach  unless  one  knows  the  path.  But  it  hap- 
pened on  a  day  that  Don  Jaime  came  shooting  teal 
and  duck  upon  the  marshes,  and  the  birds  flying  to 
the  laguna  led  him  astray,  and  I  heard  his  cries  for 
help.  None  other  was  with  me  in  the  house,  and  I 
made  him  a  tortilla,  and  gave  him  of  our  country 
wine,  and  he  lingered  a  very  long  time.  .  .  .  Thus, 
when  Sebastian  heard  of  it,  his  heart  was  hot  against 
Don  Jaime." 


236  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"After  that  Don  Jaime  came  often  and  spoke  to 
you  of  the  joys  of  Madrid?"  said  Don  Q.  with  a 
sardonic  smile. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  startled.  "  My  lord  has 
already  heard  of  these  things  ?  '' 

"  Yes,  Valentina,  for  it  is  an  ancient  tale  which 
has  been  told  throughout  the  centuries  to  foolish 
women." 

"  But  I  did  not  wish  to  listen  to  him,  lord !  .  .  . 
And  also  Sebastian  was  ordered  to  attend  to  the 
business  of  the  estate  in  distant  places." 

"  And  he  has  always  obeyed  ?  " 

"  Not  always,  lord.  And  once  when  Don  Jaime 
spoke  to  me  of  Madrid,  he  heard.  I  answered  that 
I  should  never  see  the  gay  and  splendid  things  of 
which  the  senor  spoke.  But  Don  Jaime  laughed 
with  words  that  seemed  kind  .  .  .  but  Sebastian 
loosened  his  knife  in  its  sheath,  where  he  lay  hidden, 
for  he  liked  not  the  colour  of  that  laugh.  .  .  . 
Nevertheless,  Don  Jaime  has  shown  favour  to 
Sebastian,  and  praised  him  much,  and  promised  to 
aid  him.  My  lord  knows  that  yearly  there  is  a 
corrida  (bull-fight)  held  at  the  season  of  the  car- 
nival. It  is  a  custom  upon  the  estate.  His  excel- 
lency always  gave  the  spectacle  to  his  people.  Se- 
bastian was  to  be  one  of  the  espadas.  For  months  he 
has  talked  much  of  it,  for  he  is  a  man  of  a  great 
heart ;  and  if  he  did  well  he  would  go  down  to  Seville 
and  become  famous !  " 

"And  you  wish  this  also  ?  "    inquired  Don   Q. 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         237 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  the  great  espadas  are  much 
adored  by  women,  and  have  many  to  love  them, 
even  some  who  bear  names  hundred  of  years  old?  " 

"  I  have  heard  it,  lord,"  answered  Valentina  with 
a  quick  sigh.  "  But  it  was  Sebastian's  desire,  and 
I  love  him.  We  spoke  together  of  it  on  Monday, 
and  none  have  seen  him  since  he  left  me  at  my 
father's  house." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  gone  upon  a  journey?  '* 

She  shook  her  head.  "  He  would  have  told  me, 
to  whom  he  tells  everything." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  fickle  ?  "  suggested  Don  Q.  again. 

Valentina  laughed  suddenly  and  clearly,  her  lovely 
face  lighting  up.    "  Oh,  no,  lord,"  she  said  simply. 

Don  Q.  sat  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  And  why  have  you  not  applied  to  Don  Jaime 
for  help  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  My  father  went  to  the  estancia,  and  there  has 
been  much  talk,  and  Don  Jaime  spoke  shameful 
things — that  Sebastian  had  run  away  because  of 
fear.  .  .  .  None  can  find  Sebastian,  lord,  and  if 
he  does  not  appear  at  the  corrida  many  ears  will 
hear  Don  Jaime's  words,  and  many  topgues  will 
ruin  his  reputation  for  ever!  How,  then,  can  he 
hope  to  win  a  great  name  in  the  bull-rings  ?  '* 

"  I  will  consider  the  matter,  Valentina.  You 
have  done  well  to  come  to  me.  Return  now  to  your 
home  and  shed  no  more  tears.  Go,  my  child;  no 
protestations,  they  weary  me." 

Don  Q.  watched  the  girl  descending  the  hillside. 


238  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

She  moved  with  the  inimitable  grace  of  an  Andalu- 
cian,  and  with  her  went  a  couple  of  Don  Q/s  men  to 
act  as  guides  until  she  left  the  region  of  the  sierra. 
For  some  time  after  they  disappeared  he  remained 
deep  in  thought. 

Now,  it  is  a  fact  that  had  Valentina  been  a 
stranger  to  him,  he  would  in  all  probability  have 
taken  no  further  interest  in  her  affair,  and  this  for 
a  reason  clear  enough  to  his  own  mind.  Sebastian 
had  no  claim  upon  him,  and  though  it  pleased  the 
brigand  very  frequently  to  be  the  protector  of  the 
poor  about  the  foothills,  it  was  not  his  rule  to 
espouse  individual  causes  except  on  behalf  of  mem- 
bers of  his  own  following,  or  of  his  intelligence 
department.  To  these  he  was  ever  a  staunch 
friend,  and  there  was  not  one  of  them  but  knew 
that  in  Don  Q.  he  or  she  possessed  a  mysterious  and 
powerful  champion. 

Yet,  although  they  were  aware  of  this  fact,  ap- 
peals for  help  were  seldom  made,  for  the  man 
who  came  into  the  mountains  to  ask  for  justice  or 
the  punishment  of  his  enemy  without  good  cause 
was  apt  to  fall  in  for  punishment  himself,  and, 
moreover,  to  receive  it  in  a  form  which  brought 
home  to  him  the  full  enormity  of  his  offence.  And 
it  is  certain  that  these  qualities  of  unswerving 
justice  and  of  equally  unswerving  callousness  had  a 
far-reaching  influence  upon  Don  Q.'s  career. 

Of  the  service  which  Valentina  had  once  rendered 
to  the  brigand  there  is  no  need  to  speak  at  length, 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         239 

for  the  story  has  been  told  elsewhere.  It  was  a 
sufficiently  slight  one,  but  that  mattered  nothing,  for, 
in  the  judgment  of  Don  Q.,  a  service  done  ranked 
as  an  obligation,  and  he  would  have  gone  to  any 
personal  risk  to  repay  it. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  called 
to  him  one  of  his  band,  named  Caspar,  a  sinewy 
fellow,  with  a  fierce,  lowering  face. 

"  You  have  a  knowledge  of  the  estate  of  his 
excellency  the  Count  of  Zurcanez?  "  asked  Don  Q. 

"  I  have  tended  the  bulls  upon  it  for  many 
months,  lord." 

"  That  is  well.  The  estate  at  the  moment  is 
managed  by  a  gentleman  from  Madrid,  Don  Jaime 
del  Monte.  It  is  now  three  o'clock,  by  eight  to- 
morrow evening  I  shall  be  within  touch  of  the  ilex 
wood  that  lies  two  leagues  from  the  village  of 
Zurcanez.  You  must  also  be  there  to  meet  me, 
bringing  with  you  Don  Jaime,  with  whom  I  desire 
to  hold  a  conversation." 

"  I  am  at  the  command  of  my  lord." 

"  It  is  possible  you  will  find  Don  Jaime  riding 
alone  to  the  house  of  Jose  Carcia,  who  lives  near  to 
the  Marisma  de  los  Antiguos,  .  .  .  That  is  your 
affair.  If  Don  Jaime  be  not  at  the  ilex  wood  to 
meet  me  I  shall  hold  you  responsible.  Also  Estaban 
and  Grulla,  who  will  accompany  you.  Con  Dios, 
my  child." 

With  this  softly-spoken  benediction  Don  Q.  dis- 
missed Caspar,  and  settled  down  for  the  evening. 


CHAPTER     XXIX 

HOW    DON     Q.    ATTENDED    A    BULL-FIGHT 

(continued) 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  brigand  was 
devoured  of  ennui  in  his  mountain  fastnesses,  and 
as  he  sat  soHtary  his  mind  went  back  to  the  days 
when  old  Spain  sent  forth  knights,  and  after  them 
adventurers  on  splendid  errands  of  chivalry  and 
conquest.  He  touched  his  guitar  with  absent 
fingers,  and  sang  in  his  high,  sweet  tenor  of  heroes 
long  dead,  who  had  fought  against  the  Moors  and 
finally  rolled  back  that  black  wave  of  invasion 
from  Europe.  The  truth,  indeed,  was  apparent  that 
the  brigand  had  not  been  born  in  the  century  proper 
for  the  calling  out  of  his  great  gifts.  He  had  a 
deep  feeling  for  the  romance  of  history.  Had  he 
lived  some  centuries  earlier  he  might,  nay,  would, 
have  earned  true  glory  and  a  place  among  the  high 
names  of  history  and  of  song,  instead  of  that  which 
fell  to  his  lot  in  other  annals  of  a  more  modem 
and  more  disjointed  world. 

The  moon  had  risen  when  Don  Q.  mounted  his 
mule  and  began  his  journey  towards  the  ilex  woods 
of  Zurcanez.  Valentina,  making  straight  for  the 
plains,  had  probably  almost  reached  her  home,  but> 
for  the  brigand  it  was  imperative  to  follow  a  longer 
route,  which  wound  among  the  bridle-paths  and 

240 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL-FIGHT         241 

lonely  defiles  of  the  mountains.  The  little  cavalcade 
rode  all  night,  at  first  pursued  by  wind-voices 
through  the  heights,  then  between  the  murmuring 
forests  of  the  foothills,  until  at  length  they  emerged 
upon  the  gentle  slopes  and  marshes  where  the  bull- 
frogs held  their  nightly  choruses.  Thus  by  day- 
light they  were  deep  among  the  blossoming  plains. 

But  enough  of  the  journey,  which,  like  most  of 
those  undertaken  by  Don  Q.,  did  not  lack  incident 
of  a  certain  kind.  Twice  he  and  his  men  avoided  the 
guardias  civiles,  who,  in  their  dark  cloaks  and  three- 
cornered  hats,  rode  on  unsuspectingly;  in  an  even 
more  remote  spot  they  hid  themselves  until  a  band 
of  smugglers  passed  upon  their  way,  who,  as  they 
urged  their  pack-mules  along  the  narrow  path,  in- 
voked the  name  of  Don  Q.  as  that  of  a  patron 
saint,  though  they  might  have  used  it  less  freely 
had  they  guessed  to  whose  ears  their  idle  talk  was 
drifted. 

At  about  the  same  hour  that  Don  Q.  and  his  men 
settled  into  their  concealed  camp  in  the  woods,  Don 
Jaime  rode  out  through  the  early  sunshine  from  the 
estancia.  All  the  winds  of  spring  were  blowing  in 
the  lush  meadows,  and  he  smiled  in  unconscious 
response  to  their   influence. 

In  this  part  of  the  estate  woods  ran  up  into  the 
low  hills  of  the  boundaries,  and  here  it  was  that 
Grulla  acted  poacher,  and  drew  Don  Jaime  on  and 
on  into  the  fringe  of  trees,  where  among  the  gfreen 
shadows  Caspar  and  Estaban  did  their  part.  It 
16 


242  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

suffices  to  say  that  six  compelling  hands,  with  the 
aid  of  a  raw-hide  rope,  performed  without  hitch  a 
business  to  which  they  were  well  accustomed  and 
by  noon  the  three  bandits,  with  their  reluctant 
charge  arrived  on  the  outskirts  of  that  ilex  wood 
indicated  by  Don  Q. 

Presently  a  little  hut  showed  among  the  trees,  and 
Don  Jaime,  finding  himself  near  a  dwelling,  raised 
an  outcry  for  help. 

"  Psst !  "  snarled  Caspar,  "  would  you  wake  the 
King  of  the  Sierra  from  his  siesta?" 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Don  Jaime,  "  it  cannot  be 
that  Don  Q. —  Such  a  thing  has  never  yet  been 
heard  of  at  Zurcanez!  Speak,  at  whose  orders 
have  you  brought  me  here  ?  " 

But  Caspar's  swarthy  face  had  resumed  its 
wooden  stare,  and  he  only  pushed  his  captive  down 
the  game-track  into  the  recesses  of  the  wood. 

The  position  of  affairs  between  Don  Q.  and  the 
owner  of  the  black  bulls  of  Zurcanez  needs,  perhaps, 
some  elucidation.  For  many  years  the  brigand  had 
held  actual  sway  over  the  mountainous  districts  at 
no  great  distance  from  the  estate,  and  during  all 
those  years  a  mutual  tolerance  had  existed. 

Now,  this  sentiment  of  reciprocity,  of  "  live  and 
let  live,"  was  not  really  so  strange  as  might  appear 
at  first  sight.  The  old  Count  had  beeen  known  to 
nod  and  smile  over  those  mysterious  exploits,  which, 
even  in  the  estancia,  were  told  in  hushed  tones.  For 
Don  Q.  had  never  raided  the  Zurcanez  farms,  al- 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         243 

though  it  would  have  been  easy  for  him  to  do  so; 
and,  in  return,  the  old  Count  had  held  himself  neutral 
when  expeditions  to  harass  the  brigand  had  been 
sent  up  into  the  sierra.  Many  of  Don  Q.'s  best 
men  were  drawn  from  the  ranks  of  the  ganaderos 
(herdsmen)  of  Zurcanez,  but  they  came  back  and 
forth  to  the  village  still,  and  crossed  the  estate  when 
it  suited  their  plans  without  question  from  the 
Count's  people. 

Thus  the  angry  surprise  of  Don  Jaime  can  be 
imagined  when  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  figure  that  had  become  traditional  in  the  plains. 
But  the  Count's  manager  was  no  fool,  and  resolved 
to  treat  the  position  as  one  of  friendship.  He  bowed 
low,  and  remained  uncovered. 

''  Pray  replace  your  hat,  senor,"  said  Don  Q. 
with  suavity. 

Don  Jaime  felt  more  at  his  ease,  for  a  welcome 
guest  is  often  bidden  to  retain  his  hat.  "  I  am 
honoured  in  being  permitted  to  enter  your  presence, 
caballero,"  he  answered  politely. 

Don  Q.  replied  to  the  compliment  in  form,  then 
looking  out  over  the  green  plains,  which  could  be 
seen  through  a  break  in  the  forest,  he  added,  "  I 
think,  senor,  that  this  Spain  of  ours  is  the  saddest 
country  in  the  wide  world.  Look  upon  that  land- 
scape, hallowed  by  a  thousand  historical  associa- 
tions. Fernando  wandered  there,  Azara  may  have 
looked  upon  it." 

*'  I  perceive,  senor,  that  you  are  something  of  a 


244  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

poet,"  remarked  Don  Jaime  with  a  flattering 
warmth. 

But  for  some  reason  his  pallid,  smiling  face  dis- 
pleased Don  Q.  "  I  am  grateful  for  your  apprecia- 
tion," he  said  in  a  cold  voice,  "  but  the  charms  of 
this  conversation  must  not  permit  me  to  lose  sight 
of  the  purpose  for  which  you  are  here.  I  thank  you 
for  so  quickly  responding  to  my  summons." 

"  It  came  in  a  form,  sefior,  impossible  to  refuse." 
"  My  apologies."  Don  Q.  bowed  with  ceremony, 

then  added :  "  I  have  sought  this  interview,  Don 
Jaime,  because  you  threaten  me  with  disappoint- 
ment." 

"  May  I  venture  to  hope  that  it  is  one  which  it 
lies  in  my  power  to  avert  ?  "  said  the  other,  still 
smiling. 

Don  Q.  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Who  knows  ? 
But  allow  me  to  explain.  I  need  hardly  tell  you 
that  I  am  something  of  a  recluse,  and  the  plaza  de 
toros  of  Madrid  or  of  Seville  is  out  of  my  reach. 
Therefore  the  yearly  corrida  on  the  estate  of  Zur- 
canez  excites  in  me  an  undue  interest.  You  under- 
stand?" 

"  But  perfectly,  sefior." 

"  I  was  told  that  this  year  you  had  given  per- 
mission to  a  certain  Sebastian  of  Zurcanez  to  appear 
as  an  espada.  Rumour  declared  the  young  man 
to  be  a  promising  and  courageous  young  fellow?  " 
Don  Q.  paused  as  if  for  an  answer. 

"  He  has  certainly  created  something  of  a  reputa- 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         245 

tion,"  returned  Don  Jaime,  with  a  derisive  emphasis 
on  the  verb. 

"Ah !  Further,  in  virtue  of  your  suggestion  and 
the  Count's  noble  generosity,  he  is  to  be  matched 
with  the  gallant  and  dangerous  young  bull,  Fla- 
menco.   It  should  prove  a  remarkable  experiment." 

"  Do  you  by  any  chance  honour  us  by  being  a 
spectator  ?  "  inquired  Don  Jaime. 

"  Alas,  no !  But  news  of  the  result  is  very  quickly 
transmitted  to  my  poor  house  in  the  sierra.  .  .  . 
Figure  to  yourself,  therefore,  my  dismay  when  I 
heard  that  the  excellent  Sebastian  had  vanished." 

Don  Q.  waved  his  cigarette  in  a  manner  sug- 
gestive of  complete  loss,  as  though  Sebastian  might 
have  fallen  over  the  edge  of  the  world  into  space. 

An  odd  sideways  gleam  shot  through  the  eyes 
of  Don  Jaime.  The  brigand  marked  it  and  waited 
to  see  what  it  might  mean. 

"Vanished?"  repeated  Don  Jaime  after  a 
scarcely  preceptible  pause,  then  he  burst  into  a  fit 
of  laughter.  "  You  have  been  absurdly  misled, 
caballero!  .  .  .  And  yet  I  have  heard  that  your 
intelligence  department  is  the  best-organised  com- 
bination of  its  kind  in  Europe ! " 

A  frown  furrowed  the  brigand's  forehead  under 
his  sombrero.  "  May  I  inquire  the  cause  of  your 
mirth  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  saw  Sebastian  not  two  hours  before  leaving 
the  estancia;  he  is  fulfilling  his  ordinary  duties. 
I  fear,  senor,  you  must  buy  spectacles  for  your 


246  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

spies!"  Don  Jaime's  temper  was  a  good  deal 
ruffled,  and  he  could  not  suppress  the  taunt.  "  I 
can  assure  you  that  Sebastian  is  going  about  his 
work  as  usual  at  Zurcanez,  and  will  undoubtedly 
appear  at  the  corrida  unless  his  courage  evaporates 
in  the  meantime." 

"If  that  be  so,  sefior,  I  must  ask  your  forgiveness 
for  taking  up  an  hour  or  two  of  your  morning.  .  .  . 
Nevertheless,  believe  me,  I  shall  hold  you  responsible 
for  Sebastian's  appearance  on  Sunday,"  concluded 
Don  Q.  with  an  impressive  geniality  that  somehow 
brought  no  sense  of  comfort  to  Don  Jaime. 

"  In  the  devil's  name  you  cannot  be  serious !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "Why  should  I  be  responsible?  It 
is  none  of  my  business." 

Don  Q.  held  up  his  hand.  "  On  the  contrary, 
let  me  advise  you  to  make  it  very  much  your  busi- 
ness," he  answered  softly.  "And  now  we  will 
drink  a  cup  of  wine  to  the  future  glory  of  the  black 
bulls  of  Zurcanez." 

And  here  became  manifest  that  touch  of  com- 
munity which  makes  all  Spain  akin.  These  two 
men  were  enemies  and  they  knew  it.  Yet  heartily 
they  drank  together  in  that  delicate  vintage  wherein 
Don  Q.  always  pledged  his  guests;  they  drank  to 
the  fortune  of  the  bullring,  to  the  blazing  sunshine 
and  the  hot  sand,  to  the  gallant  and  well-armed 
bull,  and  to  the  espada  who  dealt  the  death-blow  in 
the  most  intrepid  fashion. 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         247 

Afterwards  Don  Jaime  made  his  most  ceremon- 
ious farewells. 

Don  Q.  understood  that  the  little  encounter  which 
had  just  taken  place  represented  no  more  than  the 
preliminary  crossing  of  swords  between  two  strong 
antagonists.  Don  Jaime  had  yielded  with  a  ready 
falsehood  to  the  pressure  of  the  circumstances 
brought  to  bear  upon  him ;  moreover,  he  would  cer- 
tainly set  Sebastian  at  liberty;  but  Don  Q.  had  read 
the  sly  gleam  in  the  eyes  of  his  opponent,  who  while 
seeming  to  give  way  to  one  attack,  was  secretly 
maturing  another,  and,  probably,  more  formidable 
one.  Reports  from  Zurcanez  proved  that  Valen- 
tina's  beauty  had  completely  captured  the  fancy  of 
Don  Jaime,  and  Don  Q.  judged  him  to  be  a  man 
who  would  not  hesitate  to  compel  events  to  his  own 
ends. 


CHAPTER     XXX 

HOW    DON     Q.    ATTENDED    A    BULL-FIGHT 

(continued) 

The  matador  rises  from  the  tawny  earth  of  Spain. 
He  plays  a  great  part  in  his  own  world,  for  it  is 
necessary  to  realise  the  fact  that  the  imaginative 
Andalucian  is  accompanied  through  all  his  daily 
tasks  by  one  strong  delight  of  anticipation — ^to  see 
bull  and  man  stand  against  each  other  in  the  breath- 
less, torrid  sunshine  of  the  following  Sunday  after- 
noon. Hence  the  love  of  the  bull-ring  can  never  be 
quenched,  and  old  men  ache  through  twenty  years 
of  exile  for  the  scent  of  the  arena,  the  trampled 
dust,  the  outrageous  sunshine,  and  the  wild,  fierce 
game  in  which  the  stakes  are  life. 

Thus  it  can  be  understood  that  his  ambition  lay 
deep  at  Sebastian's  heart.  For  although  this  was 
not  a  fiesta  de  toros  in  some  historic  city,  but  merely 
one  of  those  irregular  corridas — in  which  nameless 
men  kill  nameless  bulls,  or  are  killed  by  them — he 
had  to-day  the  great  chance  of  his  lifetime,  for  he 
was  to  be  pitted  against  Flamenco.  And  was  not 
this  the  reason  why  so  great  a  throng  had  gathered 
even  in  that  lonely  place? 

The  first  part  of  the  entertainment  was  over,  and 
the  people,  gesticulating  and  excited,  stood  or  sat 
about  the   rough   inclosure  of  the  bull-ring  and 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         249 

bought  water  and  sweetmeats  and  nuts  from  the 
shouting  vendors  who  moved  about  amongst  them. 
It  was  a  bronzed,  happy  crowd,  clad  in  gay  colours, 
and  in  spite  of  its  many  rags,  magnificently  appre- 
ciative of  its  chance  of  pleasure. 

So  thought  a  man  in  a  soutana  and  broad  black 
hat  who  stood  in  the  dark  vestry  of  the  little  church 
and  gazed  pensively  out  through  the  slit  of  barred 
window  which  gave  a  view  of  the  arena.  For  it 
is  a  law  of  the  bull-ring  that  a  doctor  and  a  priest 
shall  be  in  attendance.  At  Zurcanez  a  barber  repre- 
sented the  first,  and  luckily,  as  the  good  priest  of  the 
village  had  been  called  away,  another  of  his  cloth, 
journeying  to  Cadiz,  had  opportunely  offered  his 
services.  It  was  he  who  stood  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  looking  out,  now  at  the  various  faces  in  the 
tumultuous  throng,  now  at  the  raised  chair  of  the 
president,  where  Don  Jaime  sat,  pallid  and  listless, 
acting  his  part  as  if  it  bored  him. 

In  him  centered  the  whole  management  of  the 
occasion ;  it  was  by  his  order  the  trumpet  blew  which 
marked  the  different  phases  of  the  fights. 

Already  one  bull  had  been  killed,  a  somewhat 
tame  performance,  for  the  animal  had  been  young 
and  unwilling  to  face  his  tormentors.  But  now  the 
people  were  again  beginning  to  gather  about  the 
barriers,  shouting  and  calling  for  the  great  event 
of  the  day. 

The  door  of  the  vestry  opened  softly,  and  Valen- 
tina  stood  white  as  ashes  amongst  the  cool  shadows, 


250  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

where  in  past  years  many  a  young  aspirant  to  bull- 
ring fame  had  sobbed  out  his  life. 
-   "Lord,  I  fear!"  she  said. 

Don  Q.  turned  back  to  look  at  the  beautiful, 
troubled  face. 

"Sebastian  is  a  man  of  courage?"  he  asked 
coldly. 

"  Sebastian  is  as  brave  as  a  lion,  lord !  But 
Flamenco — lord,  Sebastian  is  here — " 

"He  would  speak  with  me?  Enter,  Sebastian. 
Go  you,  pray  to  the  saints,  my  child,"  he  added  to 
Valentina  as  the  young  bull-fighter  entered. 

Sebastian  bowed  low  before  Don  Q.  "  Will  my 
lord  forgive  me,  but  it  may  be  that  to-day  I  shall 
receive  the  horns  of  Flamenco,"  he  paused. 

Don  Q.  met  the  steady  dark  eyes,  and  the  words 
he  was  about  to  speak  were  not  spoken. 

"  No,  lord,"  resumed  the  young  man,  smiling 
sadly,  "  I  have  no  fear ;  but  it  may  be  if  I  die  that 
Don  Jaime  will  carry  away  Valentina." 

"  Be  w^ell  assured,  Sebastian,  that  shall  never  be." 

Sebastian  laughed  a  little.  "  I  thank  my  lord. 
Now  I  go  to  give  or  take  the  death-blow." 

Outside  a  shout  arose.  "  Flamenco !  "  the  people 
cried,  "  Flamenco !  "  and  then  "  Viva  Don  Jaime ! 
Viva!    Viva!" 

The  crowd  were  praising  Don  Jaime,  because  he 
had  given  them  a  great  bull,  a  named  bull.  Fla- 
menco! The  bull  that  had  killed  Solito,  a  bull 
almost  without  a  peer  in  the  herd,  worth,  so  men 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         251 

said,  four  hundred  dollars  in  Seville  or  in  Granada. 

*'Toro!"  they  screamed  "Bravo,  toro!"  as 
Flamenco  swung  out  into  the  centre  of  the  ring. 

The  spectators  were  good  judges  of  bulls,  and 
in  Flamenco  they  could  find  no  fault.  He  was 
standing  sullenly  with  his  head  held  low,  but  moving 
his  feet  a  little,  and  as  the  muscles  rippled  undef 
the  skin,  he  showed  a  lighter  shade  than  the  jet- 
black  hides  of  the  Zurcanez  breed  usually  exhibited. 
The  men  appraised  him  point  by  point,  the  small 
strong  hoofs,  the  straight,  sharp  "  spears,"  a  head 
and  muzzle  fine  and  well  bred,  a  mighty  neck — 
oh,  a  great  bull,  without  blemish,  perfect! 

Inside  that  humble  ring  such  a  bull  had  never 
stood  before!  Even  the  children  cried  his  name; 
but  Valentina  looked  at  Flamenco  and  her  heart 
died  in  her  bosom,  for  he  had  a  reputation,  this 
Flamenco,  he  was  a  carnicero,  a  slaughtering  bull — 
it  was  said  that  he  disregarded  lures  and  attacked  the 
man  behind  them. 

What  followed  is  best  taken  from  the  autobiog- 
raphy of  Don  Q. 

"At  Zurcanez,  they  have,  alas !  no  picadores ;  but 
the  men  on  foot  in  the  arena  began  the  attack  in 
a  manner  that  I  applauded  from  the  vestry,  for  it 
was  bold  and  prettily  done,  although  they  were 
persons  of  small  experience.  A  single  banderilla 
had  been  successfully  planted  in  the  neck  of  Fla- 
menco, and,  in  truth,  the  first  assaults  upon  the 
bull  were  just  developing  themselves,  when  the  signal 


252  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

was  given  for  the  espada,  the  final  trumpet  was 
blown ! 

"  There  were  cries  of  protest  raised  by  the  crowd, 
who  desired  to  see  Flamenco  played  for  the  usual 
period,  until,  as  is  our  custom,  the  animal  tires 
somewhat.  ...  I  heard  Valentina  shriek,  for  she 
also  realised  at  that  moment  that  the  life  of  an 
espada  lies  in  the  hands  of  the  president.  Never  in 
all  my  years  of  connection  with  the  bull-ring,  never 
have  I  seen  the  like!  That  an  espada  should  be 
called  upon  to  face  a  strong  and  cunning  bull  so 
long  before  the  appointed  moment  was  a  matter  of 
shame.    But  Don  Jaime  sat  immobile. 

"  I  chanced  to  look  round  for  Sebastian,  and  what 
I  saw  pleased  me.  Without  hesitation  he  strode 
towards  the  bull,  upon  his  face  came  no  shadow  of 
fear.  He  knew  how  great  was  his  peril,  and  also 
how  great  was  the  honour  to  be  gained  by  death  in 
such  a  manner.  Forgetting  certain  things  which 
at  another  moment  I  might  have  remembered,  I 
hastened  out  to  take  my  place  at  the  barrier." 

So  far  Don  Q. 

Sebastian  moved  out  towards  the  bull.  He  was 
a  tallish  fellow,  slight,  with  a  wiry  strength  that 
was  apparent  in  every  graceful,  balanced  movement. 
His  handsome  face  showed  a  pale  glow  as  of 
triumph.  Those  who  came  from  afar  questioned 
who  was  the  Sebastian  that  he  should  be  honoured 
in  facing  this  superb  bull?  A  bull  worthy  of  the 
foremost  diestros,  of  Espartero,  of  Lamartijo ! 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         253 

"  Demonio ! "  said  another,  "  he  will  pay  for  his 
honour,  for  this  Flamenco  should  have  given  us 
much  sport  before  the  trumpet  sounded.  See,  he 
is  unspent  and  in  the  full  tide  of  his  strength.  He 
is,  moreover,  a  murderous  one,  and  of  a  cunning 
brain.  I  who  speak,  know,  for  am  I  not  the 
ganadero  who  has  tended  him  these  two  years 
past?" 

Flamenco  stood  waiting  in  the  middle  of  the 
arena,  with  characteristically  lowered  head,  and 
from  his  long  horns  fluttered  rags  torn  from  the 
cloaks  of  the  chulos.  A  hush  stole  down  through 
the  simshine  over  the  heated,  frenzied  crowd,  as  the 
young  espada  looked  up  at  Don  Jaime  in  the  presi- 
dent's seat,  and,  lifting  his  hand,  spoke  the  approved 
formula,  then  flung  his  hat  upon  the  ground,  and 
advanced,  covering  his  straight  matador's  sword 
with  the  red  flag  rolled  on  a  stick  that  is  called 
the  muleta. 

Flamenco  stood  still  watching  him,  then  made  a 
sudden  charge,  which  Sebastian  avoided.  The 
espada  came  forward  once  more.  He  spoke  a  little 
to  the  bull  as  he  approached — ^matadors  often  do- 
but  the  soft  words  did  not  penetrate  to  the  barriers. 
The  red  flag  fluttered  out  into  the  brilliant  sun- 
shine towards  the  bull,  as  he  came  thundering  down. 
Sebastian,  scarcely  moving  his  feet,  swayed  to  one 
side,  but  Flamenco,  as  he  hurtled  past  swerved  also, 
and  his  long,  left  horn  tore  open  the  flesh  of  the 
espada' s  thigh. 


254  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

There  seemed  to  be  no  one  near  Sebastian  at 
the  moment,  and  in  that  moment  Flamenco  turned 
short  to  charge  him  again  as  he  lay  half  stunned 
and  struggling  to  rise  from  the  ground.  But  be- 
fore any  of  the  toreros  could  reach  him,  the  slight 
shape  of  the  priest  sprang  forth  from  the  barrier 
and  flitted  out  across  the  sand.  With  a  pass  of  his 
cloak  he  drew  the  deadly  rush  upon  himself.  The 
sight  of  the  incongruous  black  figure  seemed  to 
strike  the  people  breathless. 

''Ay  di  me!  the  good  father,"  sobbed  out  a  woman 
suddenly,  "  this  demon  of  a  bull  will  of  a  surety 
kill  him!" 

And  this  seemed  not  unlikely,  for  Flamenco 
charged  furiously,  head  down,  grunting,  as  he  came. 
But  in  the  same  instant  the  fear  of  the  spectators 
changed  to  a  delirium  of  acclamation,  for  the  priest 
with  a  little  skimming  movement  of  nimble  feet 
eluded  the  attack,  and  then  the  chulos  came  into 
play. 

"  Suerte  de  la  capa! "  yelled  the  crowd  in  ecstacy. 

The  priest  extended  his  hand,  and  Sebastian 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  but,  badly  wounded  as  he  was, 
he  would  not  leave  the  ring.  He  stood  uncertainly, 
then  found  his  feet  and  waited  for  the  bull. 

As  soon  as  his  bloodshot  gaze  found  Sebastian, 
Flamenco  charged  again.  The  young  espada  met 
him  in  full  career  and  thrust,  following  with  his 
body  the  lunge  of  the  long  blade. 

Valentina  covered  her  eyes,  but  the  silence  which 


SKBArriAN    FELL    FULL    LENGTH    BESinE    THE    DYING    BULL. 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         255 

hung  over  the  vital  moment  broke  up  into  a  roar. 
" Buen  estoquc!     Good  thrust!" 

And  she  looked  again.  The  great  bull  was  upon 
his  knees,  blood  gulping  from  his  mouth,  while 
between  his  shoulders  protruded  the  hilt  of  Sebas- 
tian's sword,  which  he  had  no  longer  strength  to 
withdraw.  He  glanced  round,  as  if  he  would  have 
thanked  the  people  for  their  applause,  then  fell  full 
length  beside  the  dying  bull. 

It  was  twenty-six  hours  later.  In  the  little  lonely 
chapel  far  among  the  mountains  a  light  burned. 
Don  Jaime  had  ridden  many  hours  and  by  many 
rough  paths  to  this  remote  place.  From  time  to 
time  he  had  threatened  the  half-dozen  wild  moun- 
taineers, who  forced  his  mule  to  its  best  pace,  with  all 
the  penalties  of  the  Spanish  law.  None  heeded 
him,  and  none  answered.  Finally  gagged,  and 
with  his  hands  bound,  he  was  hustled  in  upon  the 
outskirts  of  the  congregation  to  witness  the  pic- 
turesque marriage  ceremony  going  on  within.  Don 
Jaime  looked  round.  Never  had  the  walls  of  any 
church  inclosed  such  a  gathering.  On  all  sides  wind- 
reddened,  swarthy  men  met  his  gaze.  Away  under 
the  lights  of  the  altar  he  could  see  the  blue-eyed, 
black-haired  bride,  and  Sebastian's  worn,  handsome 
face,  bloodless,  against  the  dusk. 

Then  it  was  over,  the  priest  and  his  acolyte  with- 
drew, and  presently  only  three  people  beside  him- 
self remained,  the  young  bride  and  bridegroom  and 


256  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

a  cloaked  figure  whose  name  Don  Jaime  did  not 
need  to  ask. 

"  Receive  my  blessing,  my  children/'  said  Don  Q., 
"  as  well  as  that  which  the  good  father  has  bestowed 
upon  you.  Here  is  part  of  my  wedding-gift.  This 
will  enable  you  to  live  until  your  wound  is  healed, 
Sebastian,  and  you  have  won  another  step  or  two 
towards  your  ambition." 

The  young  couple  would  have  kissed  his  hands, 
praying  blessings  upon  him.  "  None  in  all  Spain 
is  so  great  as  my  lord,  so  good  to  the  poor  ones ! " 
they  said. 

"  I  trust  so.  I  trust  so,  my  children ! "  inter- 
rupted Don  Q.  "  But,  see,  the  remainder  of  my 
wedding  gifts  stands  yonder." 

Sebastian  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated. He  expected  to  see  a  mule,  or  perhaps  a 
horse,  but  he  met  instead  the  angry  stare  of  Don 
Jaime.  The  gag  had  been  taken  from  his  mouth, 
and  he  broke  into  a  flood  of  words. 

**  From  all  of  which,"  said  Don  Q.,  as  he  paused, 
"  I  gather  that  you  misapprehend  the  situation. 
Over  your  fate  I  claim  no  power.  It  rests  entirely 
with  Sebastian.  As  president  of  the  corrida,  you 
attempted  by  foul  play  to  cause  his  death;  and, 
further,  you  brought  much  discredit  upon  the  whole 
practice  of  bull-fighting,  a  terrible  crime  in  one  who 
holds  an  official  connection  with  the  ring.  There- 
fore, nothing  now  remains  but  for  Sebastian  to 
pronounce  your  sentence,  and  for  Caspar  and  Rob- 


DON  Q.  AT  A  BULL  FIGHT         257 

ledo,  who  wait  at  the  door,  to  carry  it  out.  .  .  . 
What  should  you  desire  to  be  done  with  this  person, 
Sebastian  ?  " 

Valentina  pulled  her  husband's  sleeve,  and  the  two 
whispered  together  for  a  moment,  before  Sebastian 
spoke. 

"  We  would  intreat  my  lord  to  advise  us." 

"  That  is  very  well  said,  Sebastian.  Come,  let  us 
hold  our  little  council  together." 

The  three  stood  in  the  shadows  out  of  earshot, 
whilst  Don  Jaime  cursed  bitterly  to  himself.  In  a 
short  time  Don  Q.  clapped  his  hands,  and  two  of 
his  men  entered. 

"  Don  Jaime,"  said  the  brigand,  "  you  will  be 
given  the  night  in  which  to  consider  your  sins  before 
the  shrine,  but  as  soon  as  it  is  light  enough  for 
them  to  see  the  sights  of  their  rifles  my  men  will 
lead  you  out  and  clear  Sebastian's  account  with 
you." 

Don  Jaime  heard  the  sentence  as  in  a  dream,  as 
in  a  dream  he  saw  the  beautiful  face  of  Valentina, 
inexorably  cold,  and  Sebastian's  expressionless 
acquiescence.  He  would  have  spoken  if  he  could, 
but  while  he  collected  his  thoughts  they  were  gone. 

He  was  unbound  and  left  to  wear  the  long  night 
through  in  the  chapel.  For  hours  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  narrow  floor;  again  and  again  he  drew 
himself  up  to  the  barred  window  and  looked  out  at 
the  almost  motionless  forms  of  his  two  guards, 
17 


258  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

backed  by  the  gaunt,  moonlit  sierra.  During  the 
early  night  an  imprisoned  bird  fluttered  and  beat 
against  the  higher  windows. 

Purple  dark  had  given  place  to  moonlight,  and 
the  moonlight  was  waning  when,  utterly  wearied 
out,  he  fell  into  a  doze,  from  which  he  started  awake 
with  the  dull  knowledge  of  impending  catastrophe. 
Already  the  bird  was  moving  in  the  dusk  of  the  roof, 
and  a  pale  luminance  in  the  air  heralded  the  day. 
Soon  it  would  be  possible  for  the  guards  to  see  to 
shoot!  With  a  catch  at  his  breath,  he  stumbled  to 
the  window,  but  his  eyes  fell  on  vacancy — they  were 
perhaps  already  in  the  porch !  He  crept  to  the  door 
and  tried  it  softly.  It  was  locked.  Outside  the  sun 
changfed  the  dawnlights  from  green  to  orange.  It 
was  full  day!  .  .  .  Oh,  why  did  they  not  come 
and  put  an  end  to  this  dreadful  expectancy? 

As  his  eyes  passed  round  the  interior,  they  fell 
upon  something  which  shone  white  against  the  dark 
wood  of  the  door.    A  written  paper  and  a  key ! 

Don  Jaime  held  it  up  to  the  light  now  streaming 
in. 

"  It  is  unlucky  to  marry  and  to  kill  within  the 
same  twenty- four  hours.  Therefore  you  are  free; 
but,  should  you  offend  again,  there  will  be  no 
pardon.*' 

Don  Jaime  thrust  the  key  into  the  door,  opened 
it,  and  with  the  free  wind  on  his  face  fell  forward 
in  a  dead  faint.  The  bird  which  had  been  his  fellow 
prisoner  flew  out  over  his  unconscious  body  into 
the  sunlight  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER     XXXI 

HOW    DON    Q.    PLAYED    SUBSTITUTE 

The  years  wore  away,  and  as  they  passed  the 
aspect  of  life  changed  under  the  eyes  of  Don  Q.  Old 
memories  could  never  change;  yet  old  duties,  old 
interests  which  had  held  him  with  strong  hands  it 
seemed  but  yesterday,  were  weakening,  fading,  and 
leaving  him  free  to  a  freedom  lonelier  than  the  bond- 
age of  the  past. 

For  many  weeks  strange  happenings  had  been 
taking  place  in  the  Boca  del  Lobo,  events  such  as 
were  unique  in  the  history  of  the  sequestradores. 
Day  by  day  men  were  sent  for  to  the  cave  of  Don  Q., 
and  they  came  forth  from  it  with  set  look  and  closed 
mouths,  then  within  the  hour  they  departed,  wearing 
the  faces  of  men  with  a  mission,  down  the  moun- 
tains. One  by  one  they  went  their  way,  until  at  last 
scarce  a  score  of  bandits  were  left  by  the  fires ;  these 
talked  much  among  themselves,  but  their  conversa- 
tions, carried  on  at  every  expedient  interval,  left  them 
none  the  wiser.  Of  all  the  band,  one  only  knew  the 
purpose  of  Don  Q.,  that  one  was  Robledo,  who  on 
a  certain  windy  evening  heard  it  with  a  growing 
wonder. 

"  Robledo,  my  child,"  said  Don  Q.,  "  have  you 
ever  been  told  of  a  country  called  Mexico?  " 

259 


26o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"  Is  it  not  the  place,  lord,  where  all  men  ride  upon 
horses?  " 

"  That  is  the  place.    I  am  going  there." 

"And  my  lord  will  return,"  said  Robledo,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  stating  an  incontrovertible  fact. 

"  It  may  be,  Robledo ;  again  it  may  be  that  I  shall 
not  return." 

"  I  am  ready,  even  at  this  instant,  to  accompany' 
my  lord,"  exclaimed  the  young  mountaineer. 

"  That  cannot  be." 

Robledo  clenched  his  hands  with  a  wild  gesture. 
"  I  am  again  to  be  separated  from  my  lord  ?  " 

"  You  will  remain  in  Spain,  Robledo." 

The  young,  worn,  handsome  face  blanched.  "  I 
cannot ! " 

"  Not  if  I  command  ?  "  inquired  Don  Q. 

"  If  my  lord  commands,  I  will  remain  in  Spain 
until  he  has  gone." 

"And  then,  Robledo?" 

"  I  will  leap  from  the  Salto  del  Lobo.  Who 
am  I  that  I  should  live  when  my  lord  has  de- 
parted?" 

"And  what  of  Isabellilla,  your  wife?" 

"  She  would  be  the  first,  lord,  to  point  out  the 
track  to  the  Salto  del  Lobo ! " 

Don  Q.  paused  for  a  moment.  Anyone  watching 
his  frown  would  have  thought  he  was  about  to 
repel  Robledo,  but  as  the  silence  lengthened,  and  as 
he  looked  upon  the  stricken  face  of  the  young  man. 
his  own  grew  softer  than  any  in  the  sierra  had  ever 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       261 

seen  it,  the  lines  about  the  mouth  passed  away,  and  a 
fire  almost  of  geniality  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  think  we  shall  have  to  go  together,  after  all, 
Robledo;  we  three,  who  have  been  linked  together 
for  so  long." 

Perhaps  this  is  the  single  record  of  Don  Q/s 
unbending  to  one  of  his  followers.  At  this,  Robledo, 
carried  out  of  himself,  raised  the  shrill  halloo  of  the 
Andalucian  cazador.  At  once  the  frown  settled  back 
on  Don  Q.'s  brows. 

"  You  forget  yourself  strangely,"  said  he. 
"  Should  such  a  thing  occur  again,  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  beg  you  to  take  the  path  to  the  Wolf's  Leap 
without  delay." 

It  is  hard  to  say  when  the  idea  of  leaving  the 
Spanish  sierra  first  found  footing  in  the  mind  of 
Don  Q.,  but  once  there,  during  the  long  and  lonely 
days  and  yet  longer  nights — for  the  brigand  had 
suffered  for  years  from  insomnia — it  grew  stronger 
and  more  definite. 

"  I  have  long  since  reached  the  apex  of  my 
career,"  he  wrote  in  his  autobiography.  "  One  by 
one  those  of  my  blood  have  ceased  to  need  my  sur- 
veillance. Many  of  my  old  enemies  are  dead.  Yet 
I  linger  here  surrounded  by  savage  and  illiterate 
men,  and  from  time  to  time  it  comes  to  me  that  I 
can  no  longer  support  the  desolation  of  my  existence. 
From  the  endless  battle  which  has  raged  between 
me  and  the  authorities  I  can  now  retire  with  all  the 
honours  of  war — at  least  from  the  arena  of  crag 


262  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  peak,  though  not  perhaps  from  the  struggle  of 
life.  Over  there,  far  away  in  the  New  World,  it  is 
possible  that  a  career  awaits  me,  if  I  bid  farewell  for 
ever  to  the  sierra."    So  Don  Q. 

The  days  which  followed  found  him  in  the  vortex 
of  orderly  preparation  that  heralded  his  departure. 
Among  many  matters  which  claimed  his  attention, 
not  the  least  was  the  collection  by  trusty  hands  for 
shipping  out  of  Spain  of  the  accumulation  of 
treasures  which  during  many  years  he  had  secreted 
in  various  parts  of  the  sierra.  There  were  also  a 
hundred  cases  of  reward  and  payment,  punishment 
and  discharge  to  occupy  each  waking  hour.  So  it 
may  be  readily  imagined  that  the  last  few  weeks 
spent  in  the  Boca  del  Lobo  were  among  the  busiest 
and  most  harassing  of  his  whole  career.  But  at 
length  all  was  done,  only  a  short  dozen  of  men  re- 
mained by  the  fires  below  the  terrace,  Caspar,  Grulla 
the  Crane,  Esteban,  Drumio,  and  a  few  others. 
Robledo  was  already  away  upon  his  master's  busi- 
ness, and  then  at  last  there  came  a  morning  when 
these  men  received  each  a  warning  and  a  reward 
before  they  filed  out  of  their  lord's  sight,  as  he 
believed,  for  the  last  time.  They  marched  to  a 
camp  that  he  had,  as  a  measure  of  precaution, 
ordered  them  to  keep  up  for  one  month  at  some 
miles'  distance,  and  five  hundred  feet  nearer  heaven. 

With  noon  a  strange  quiet  brooded  over  the  valley, 
in  the  sunlit  hours  which  followed,  a  scattering  of 
jays,  emboldened  by  the  unusual  silence,  flew  out 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       263 

from  among  the  pines  to  strut,  and  pry,  and  peck 
among  the  ashes  of  the  dead  fires;  then  came  eve- 
ning, with  its  chill  wind  whistling  through  the  empty 
chozas.  The  lonely  figure  sat  at  the  cave-mouth 
and  looked  down,  for  the  brigand,  in  his  relation  to 
inanimate  nature,  was  strangely  enough  something 
of  a  sentimentalist.  So  as  the  hours  went  by  he  for- 
got the  solitude  he  had  endured,  his  mind  dwelt  more 
upon  the  hours  of  success,  the  exploits  and  achieve- 
ments of  decades  of  a  guerilla  warfare,  and  upon 
the  pleasures  of  companionship  which  he  had  enjoyed 
there.  But  whether  it  was  with  sorrow  or  with  joy 
that  he  took  his  leave  of  the  sierra  no  one  will  ever 
know.  It  is  characteristic  that  upon  this  point  his 
autobiography  is  silent. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

HOW   DON    Q.    PLAYED   SUBSTITUTE — {continued) 

Three  days  later  Don  Q.,  all  these  thoughts 
shaken  off,  emerged  among  the  vineyards,  which  here 
abut  upon  the  foothills.  In  front  of  him  stretched 
out  all  the  possibilities  of  a  new  life,  a  life  to  be 
lived  far  away,  a  life  in  which  he  must  exchange  the 
pine  for  the  palm.  But  he  did  not  forget  that  un- 
counted chances  of  danger  and  of  death  lay  between 
him  and  that  future.  Yet  it  was  with  a  lightening 
heart  that  the  brigand  on  his  horse  ambled  slowly 
down  the  winding  road.  A  shower  had  fallen, 
and  awakened  from  the  earth  a  hundred  scents  of 
sweetness  and  of  growth.  Far  away  across  the 
grey  olive-groves  and  the  vivid  vine-tendrils,  a  new 
day  was  rising  out  of  Africa. 

It  was  his  habit  to  travel  by  night  and  to  lie  up 
by  day;  but  at  this  point  of  his  journey  he  turned 
away  from  the  vine-clad  country  to  a  desplodados 
of  sandhills  and  undulating  land,  which  had  for  the 
most  part  fallen  out  of  tillage.  But  there  were 
neglected  woods  still  crouching  in  the  hollows,  and 
olives,  old,  gnarled,  and  forbidding,  within  broken 
hedges  of  cactus  and  prickly  pear.  Don  Q.  urged  his 
horse  to  a  gallop,  for  day  was  breaking  into  sunlight 
and  although  the  district  seemed  deserted  he  knew 

264 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       265 

that  he  had  now  left  the  wide  sphere  of  his  influence, 
where  hundreds  of  chosas,  vent  as,  and  posadas 
sheltered  each  the  head  of  an  adherent. 

Every  mile  as  it  dropped  behind  added  now  to  the 
peril  of  his  position.  His  destination  was  an  old 
casa  de  vinos,  sl  lodge  about  which  once  clustered 
a  vineyard  of  repute,  but  that  had  long  lain  deserted. 
The  building  had  been  turned  to  his  own  uses  by  one 
Ramon,  who  kept  an  obscure  inn,  which,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  was  little  frequented  save  by  smugglers,  and 
by  those  who  sought  safety  in  seclusion.  This 
Ramon  was  well  known  by  Don  Q.,  to  whose  intel- 
ligence department  he  had  for  years  past  supplied 
aid  and  information. 

It  has  been  often  said  that  Don  Q.  had  the  senses 
of  a  hunter.  His  long  existence  in  the  mountains, 
far  from  the  dulling  influences  of  civilised  life,  had 
sharpened  his  faculty  of  observation.  Thus,  as  he 
cantered  forward  in  the  broadening  day,  he  saw 
on  the  trampled  sand  of  the  roadside  a  tiny  dark 
spot.  He  drew  up  his  horse  upon  its  haunches  and 
dismounted  swiftly,  then,  stooping,  he  found  it  to 
be  a  drop  of  blood  still  wet  and  crimson.  He  walked 
fifty  yards  before  he  found  a  second,  and  another 
thirty  before  an  almost  continuous  trail  drew  him  on 
and  through  a  break  in  the  cactus  hedge,  where 
under  the  dusty  olive-trees,  nearly  hidden  behind 
a  thicket  of  thorns,  he  was  aware  of  something,  a 
patch  of  brown  amidst  the  withered  green  of  the 
thicket.    Nothing  moved  as  he  pushed  nearer,  and  a 


266  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

moment  later  he  was  standing  beside  the  body  of  a 
man. 

The  man  lay  with  his  face  buried  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm,  his  legs  outstretched  in  an  ungainly 
sprawl.  As  he  fell  so  he  must  have  died,  for  his 
body  was  still  warm.  Don  Q.  turned  him  over. 
Wayside  tragedies  are  not  uncommon  in  a  land 
where  the  passions  rise  to  fever  heat  in  a  moment; 
but  this  Don  Q.  saw  at  a  glance  was  no  ordinary 
case  of  a  quarrel  and  a  murder. 

Although  he  was  dressed  in  the  costume  of  a 
peasant,  this  fellow,  with  his  heavy-featured  face 
and  reddish  moustache,  was  no  son  of  Spain.  More- 
over, the  man  had  been  shot  in  the  back.  What 
could  it  mean?  From  the  faja,  which  he  wore 
Spanish  fashion  about  his  waist,  peeped  a  glint  of 
white ;  it  proved  to  be  the  edge  of  a  letter  addressed 
to  the  sefiora  Garcia,  a  name  far  from  uncommon 
in  Spain. 

The  dead  man  had  evidently  been  a  messenger, 
and  it  looked  as  if  he  had  escaped  from  his  assailants 
only  to  die  in  a  thicket  with  his  charge  still  safe  in 
his  possession.  That  he  would  be  followed  was 
certain,  and  Don  Q.,  who  had  once  before  been  to 
Ramon's,  and  thus  knew  something  of  the  ground, 
determined  to  approach  the  posada  from  the  back. 
He  led  his  horse  over  a  rocky  ridge  dipping  into 
a  wooded  valley  and  a  couple  of  hours  later  dis- 
mounted again  to  reconnoitre  the  house.  From  the 
angle  at  which  he  came  upon  it,  it  presented  a  white 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       2.67 

wall  to  the  eye,  blank  save  for  a  narrow-slatted 
window  in  a  low  tower  which  squatted  on  the  roof. 
How  closely  connected  with  his  own  fate  that 
window  was  yet  to  be  he  did  not  guess. 

Leading  his  horse,  he  advanced  quietly  until  he 
could  tie  the  animal  to  the  branch  of  a  tree.  Then 
with  noiseless  footstep  he  emerged  from  the  wood 
and  walked  round  to  the  front  of  the  building. 

A  man,  with  an  air  of  a  town-dweller  rather  than 
that  of  a  peasant,  was  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
sun  as  he  stared  down  the  track  which  led  past  the 
door. 

"  Ramon,"  said  Don  Q.,  softly  at  his  side. 

The  man  started  violently,  and  turned  pale  under 
the  unwashed  brown  of  his  skin.  There  could  be  no 
question  about  the  fact  that  Ramon  was  in  a  desper- 
ate fright. 

"  Vuesencia,  excellency,  you  must  fly !  "  his  shifty 
eyes  dropped  before  Don  Q.'s. 

The  mystery  was  growing  no  clearer.  "  I  will 
at  the  least  drink  some  water  from  the  jarro"  said 
Don  Q. 

Ramon  unhooked  the  porous  four-mouthed  jar 
from  the  wall,  and  the  brigand,  holding  it  high, 
poured  a  stream  of  cool  water  down  his  throat. 

"  Vuesencia,  do  not  delay !  There  is  great 
danger !  "  urged  Ramon  again. 

**  But  the  contrabandista  I  was  to  travel  with, 
where  is  he?    You  expected  me  at  this  hour! " 

"  Even  so,  Vuesencia,  therefore  I  looked  for  you 


268  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

on  the  road.  Tolome  will  not  pass  by  to-day,  for 
the  Carbineers  may  arrive — and  if  it  came  about 
that  my  lord  was  captured  in  my  poor  house  (which 
is  his  and  all  that  is  in  it)  I  should  never  survive 
the  memory." 

"  That,  indeed,  is  more  than  probable,"  agreed 
Don  Q.,  grimly.  It  was  quite  possible,  he  thought, 
that  the  fellow  had  betrayed  him,  although  he  lacked 
courage  to  confront  the  moment  when  his  treachery 
should  be  revealed. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  into  the  house,  for  you  must 
g^ve  me  a  handful  of  olives  and  some  bread,"  said 
the  brigand. 

"  No,  no,  Vuesencia,  no ;  if  you  love  your  life ! " 

"  Who  have  you  within?  "  asked  Don  Q.,  harshly. 

Ramon  wrung  his  hands  together.    "  None,  lord." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Ramon  stretched  out  an  elo- 
quent hand. 

"  They  come,  excellency !  They  come !  "  he  cried, 
as  he  broke  into  a  loud  lamentation.  "  If  you  are 
captured  in  my  poor  house,  Robledo  and  Caspar 
will  undoubtedly  sharpen  their  knives  for  my 
body—" 

But  Don  Q.  took  no  heed  of  Ramon.  His  eyes 
were  bent  upon  the  road,  along  which  a  number  of 
horsemen  were  galloping.  He  looked  round.  The 
inn  stood  upon  bare,  open  ground,  with  no  cover 
within  three  hundred  yards  of  it.  His  horse  was 
weary  with  a  ride  of  thirty  miles,  he  could  not 
escape  by  riding.    In  a  moment  his  plans  were  made. 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       269 

He  did  not  know  who  these  horsemen  could  be  nor 
their  object  in  coming  there,  and  no  time  remained 
in  which  to  ask  questions.  Don  Q.  ran  into  the  inn, 
stood  for  a  moment  glancing  at  his  surroundings, 
then,  perceiving  a  ladder  which  evidently  communi- 
cated with  a  loft  in  the  tower,  he  at  once  commenced 
to  climb  it.  Beneath  him  Ramon  said  something 
which  he  could  not  catch.  Don  Q.  snarled  back  a 
threat,  flung  open  the  trap-door,  and  sprang  into 
the  loft,  letting  the  flap  of  the  door  fall  to  behind 
him. 

He  had  expected  to  find  the  loft  almost  dark  with 
perhaps  a  feeble  glimmer  of  evening  light  coming 
through  the  fixed  slats  of  the  window.  But,  to  his 
surprise,  a  lantern  burned  dimly  in  a  far  corner.  He 
stopped  and  looked  round  trying  to  pierce  the  gloom. 
The  place  seemed  empty,  save  for  a  broken  chair 
and  a  heap  of  dried  grass  at  one  side.  A  slight  move- 
ment behind  the  lantern  startled  him. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

The  answer  came  at  once.  *'  I  should  rather  ask 
who  are  you  that  intrude  upon  me  in  this  manner  ?  " 
said  a  woman  in  good  Spanish. 

A  woman!  The  voice  was  clear,  well  bred,  and 
haughty,  but  Don  Q.  stood  silent  for  a  second,  for 
two  facts  met  in  his  mind.  The  question  had  been 
put  in  good  Spanish,  but  with  the  accent  of  a 
foreigner — the  man  he  had  left  dead  among  the  dry 
cactus  leaves  half-an-hour  ago  wore  a  Spanish 
dress,  though  he  also  was  a  foreigner. 


270  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

**  Ten  thousand  pardons,  seiiora,  I  was  told  the 
loft  was  empty." 

"  Then  the  fellow  down  below  has  betrayed  me." 

**  No,  for  I  took  the  law  in  my  own  hands  and 
come  up  here  to  escape  from  a  party  of  people  who 
are  riding  hard  this  way." 

He  could  hear  her  catch  a  sharp  breath  in  the 
darkness,  but  she  spoke  in  a  steady  voice. 

"Are  they  hunting  you?  " 

"  No ;  yet  I  prefer  not  to  be  seen.  An  idea  strikes 
me,  you  are  the  sefiora  Garcia  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  think  so?  " 

"  Because  a  letter  addressed  to  you  has  just  come 
into  my  possession.  Read  it  quickly,  for  it  has 
escaped  the  hands  of  your  enemies,  and  we  may  be 
able  to  help  each  other,  you  and  I,  since  we  seem  to 
be  companions  in  misfortune." 

Don  Q.  picked  up  the  lantern  and  held  it  while 
she  read.  He  saw  a  delicate  young  profile,  shaded 
by  heavy,  fair  hair,  but  the  eyes  she  raised  to  his, 
when  she  finished  the  letter  were  dark,  and,  though 
she  seemed  little  over  twenty,  they  wore  a  look  of 
settled  sadness. 

"  Where  is  de  Vassen  ?  It  was  he  who  should 
have  brought  this  to  me." 

"  I  fear  you  will  not  see  him  again.  He  was  a 
brave  man." 

The  noise  of  hoof-beats  and  loud  voices  outside 
interrupted  him. 

"  Listen,  senora ;  do  you  know  who  speaks  ?  "  he 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       271 

pointed  downwards  to  the  room  below,  where  they 
could  hear  men  moving  with  clanking  spurs. 

**  She  is  here !  We  know  she  is  here !  Come,  tell 
us  without  delay  where  she  is  hidden ! "  the  tone 
was  thick,  with  a  hectoring  accent. 

"  I  do  not  understand,  excellency,"  Ramon's  reply 
sounded  shaky  enough. 

Don  Q.'s  companion  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  That  thick  voice  is  Baron  Yusiloff's.  What  shall 
I  do?" 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  advise  you  ?  See,  I  will 
lie  down  behind  the  grass,  and  you  must  place  the 
lantern  near  the  trap-door,  and  when  they  come  you 
will  rush  forward  as  if  you  expected  de  Vassen. 
They  will  need  food  and  the  horses  rest  before  they 
take  you  away,  and  will  probably  let  you  stay  up 
here  alone;  I  may  then  be  able  to  aid  you.  It  is 
the  only  possible  plan  by  which  I  can  hope  to  escape 
notice." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  excellency,  there  is  nobody 
here,"  Ramon  was  repeating  drearily  downstairs. 

**Pah!  the  fool  lies!  She  must  be  here,  and 
de  Vassen  with  her !  "  Yusiloff  exclaimed.  "  Here, 
you  Alsin,  search  that  room,  I  myself  will  attend  to 
the  loft." 

The  sefiora  Garcia  took  the  lantern.  "  Go,  I  will 
do  what  I  can,"  she  whispered. 

Don  Q.  had  hardly  thrown  himself  down  behind 
the  hay  when  the  trap-door  was  pushed  up,  and  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  a  big  fat-faced  man  were 


272  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

thrust  through  in  company  with  a  huge  hand  hold- 
ing a  revolver. 

The  sefiora  Garcia  sprang  forward.  "  Oh,  it  is 
you  at  last,  de  Vassen?  Why  did  you  not  come 
sooner?  "  she  cried. 

Yusiloff  laughed  unpleasantly.  "  I  am  sorry  to 
disappoint  your  highness,  and  to  present  to  you  only 
poor  Franz  Yusiloff,  instead  of  the  traitor,  de 
Vassen,  who,  I  have  the  happiness  of  informing 
your  highness,  is  probably  by  this  time  dead !  " 

The  lady  stood  silent  while  he  shouted  the  news  to 
his  friends  below. 

"  So  we  have  found  you,''  he  added,  as  he  raised 
himself  through  the  door  in  the  flooring.  "  So,  so! 
I  knew  the  innkeeper  lied." 

"  To  overtake  a  woman  who  has  lost  all  her 
friends  is  a  triumph  to  boast  of,  Yusiloff,"  she  said, 
and  Don  Q.  noticed  that  she  spoke  as  a  woman 
accustomed  to  the  privileges  of  rank. 

"At  least  my  master  will  think  it  so,"  Yusiloff 
retorted. 

"And  now  that  you  have  discovered  me?  " 

"  We  shall  take  you  back  again  with  us  to  the 
paradise  from  which  you  escaped,  madame,"  sneered 
Yusiloff,  as  he  moved  about  the  loft,  tapping  the 
beams  that  formed  the  shell  of  the  tower,  and  almost 
treading  upon  Don  Q.  where  he  lay  under  the  heap 
of  grass. 

"  Do  we  start  at  once  ?  "  inquired  the  lady,  coldly. 

"  No,  madame,  not  even  to  suit  your  convenience. 


lu    uwKi/iKr.     A     VKiMAN     WHO    HAS    LOST    ALL     HER     FRIENDS    IS    A 
TRIUMPH    TO    BOA&T    OF." 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       273 

We  must  rest  and  eat.    For  the  moment  your  place 
of  refuge  must  become  your  prison." 

He  began  to  climb  back  clumsily  through  the 
trap-door  and  onto  the  ladder,  but  his  head  had 
hardly  disappeared  before  he  thrust  it  up  once  more. 

"  You  are  surprised  that  I  should  trust  you  alone, 
you  who  are  so  clever  in  escaping?  "  he  said  scoff- 
ingly.  "  Let  me  tell  you  why.  There  is  not  one 
man  of  your  retinue  left  alive  in  Spain  to  aid  you !  " 

The  trap-door  banged  above  his  head,  as  the  lady 
sank  upon  her  knees  beside  the  heap  of  grass. 

"  Do  not  move  yet,"  she  whispered,  "  for  Yusil- 
off  is  very  crafty.  Wait  until  they  begin  to  eat.  He 
always  overeats,  and  will  be  drowsy.  Ah,  sefior, 
I  knew  it  must  come  to  this !  I  knew  that  I  could 
never  escape!  My  husband  will  be  waiting  for  me 
at  Gibraltar;  and  what  will  he  do  when  he  hears 
that  they  have  taken  me  back  again?  Oh,  it  is  too 
hard  to  bear !  " 

"  Where  would  they  take  you,  madame,  these 
men?" 

"  To  the  prison  from  which  I  escaped.  They 
call  it  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Cross.  It  is  not 
a  convent,  it  is  an  asylum,  where  the  inmates  are 
not  mad ;  their  one  offence  is  that  they  stand  either 
by  birth  or  marriage  within  the  inner  ring  of 
royalty.  The  tragedy  of  my  life  is  known  to  the 
world  because  I  attempted  to  escape  two  years  ago. 
It  was  Yusiloff  then  who  captured  me!  Without 
him  the  others  are  nothing." 
18 


274  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Don  Q.  made  no  answer.  He  knew  now  who 
she  was,  this  girl  of  a  noble  family  whom  a  prince 
of  the  proudest  royal  house  in  Europe  had  married. 
He  seemed  to  be  forgiven,  his  wife  was  received  at 
Court.  It  was  soon  suggested  that  he  should  go  on 
a  voyage  half  round  the  world.  The  invitation  was 
no  less  than  a  command.  Long  months  passed  over 
but  he  would  not  return,  for  false  news  had  been 
sent  to  him  that  his  wife  had  become  mad.  How 
she  had  attempted  to  escape  and  failed  was  a  story 
told  by  every  newspaper  in  the  world. 

Don  Q.  moved  quietly.  "You  must  not  fail 
again,  senora,"  he  said. 

Although  it  had  been  clear  day  when  Don  Q. 
reached  the  casa  de  vinas,  the  evening  had  now  fallen 
and  was  rapidly  deepening  into  night.  In  the  tower- 
loft  the  lantern  still  faintly  lit  the  warm  dusk,  and 
soon  the  air  was  penetrated  with  the  odours  of  cook- 
ing and  of  wet  dust,  as  the  party  below  prepared 
for  their  meal,  while  one  or  two  of  the  servants 
watered  the  horses  outside. 

"Ah,  sefior,  I  have  no  hope.  My  enemies  are  too 
strong  for  me.  Yusiloff  will  carry  me  back,  and  I 
shall  be  shut  up  for  all  my  life  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Sacred  Cross — those  four  dreary  walls  beside  a 
dreary  Belgian  river.  My  husband  gave  up  every- 
thing to  marry  me;  we  only  wanted  to  be  happy 
together,  Ferdinand  and  I." 

"  Do  not  lose  hope,  madame,"  said  Don  Q.,  very 
gently. 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       275 

"  Can  I  help  it  ?  They  have  killed  poor  de 
Vassen ;  you  heard  Yusiloff  say  it.  And  there  is  no 
one  else." 

"All  the  world  sympathises  with  you." 

She  laughed  bitterly.  "  Yes,  the  newspapers  took 
up  my  case ;  they  all  meant  well,  they  were  all  sorry, 
and  they  did  me  the  greatest  dis-service — no  enemy 
could  have  done  more  against  me !  " 

"Ah,  I  understand.  Your  portraits,  madame! 
Even  I  myself — " 

"  You  knew  me  at  once,  senor,  that  is  what  you 
would  say?  Alas,  yes,  my  photograph  was  pub- 
lished over  half  the  world.  There  lies  my  worse 
peril — that  is  why  I  find  it  so  hard  to  escape ;  every- 
one can  recognise  me." 

"  Nevertheless,  do  not  give  up  hope." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  would  rather  fall  into  the 
hands  of  Don  Q.,  the  brigand  of  the  mountains,, 
than  into  Yusiloff's.    He  would  treat  me  better." 

"  I  am  very  certain  that  he  would  do  so,"  said 
Don  Q. 

"  My  one  hope  is  that  we  may  all  of  us  be  cap- 
tured by  his  outposts." 

Don  Q.  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  I  fear  that  can- 
not be,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?  "she  cried. 

"  Because  his  outposts  are  no  longer  in  their 
places." 

"  You  take  from  me  my  last  hope." 

"  Not  quite  the  last,"  said  Don  Q.  "  For,  although 


276  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

his  outposts  are  withdrawn,  pray  accept  the  man 
himself  as  your  champion."  He  bowed  to  the 
ground,  and  sefior  Garcia,  who  had  heard,  as, 
indeed,  who  in  Spain  had  not,  of  the  exploits  of  the 
lord  of  the  mountains,  stared  at  him  in  wonder  and 
not  a  little  fear. 

"  You  Don  Q.  ?  "  she  cried.  "  You  that  terrible 
man  ?    Oh,  it  is  impossible !  " 

"And  why,  madame,  is  it  impossible?" 

"  Seiior,  she  faltered,  "  your  sympathy.  ..." 

"Ah,  madame,  it  has  been  my  fate  to  draw  my 
sword  in  many  a  good  cause.  Never,  however,  in 
a  better  than  that  in  which  it  is  now  bare." 

The  enemies  of  Don  Q.  may  find  many  a  fault  in 
the  woof  of  his  character;  nor  is  that  wonderful, 
since  it  had  been  woven  in  such  wild  scenes  as  few 
have  lived  through.  But  the  fact  cannot  be  denied 
that  he  possessed  a  quality  of  sympathy  and  under- 
standing such  as  is  shared  by  few.  His  companion 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  It  is  whispered  in  the  plains  that  you  are  about 
to  leave  the  mountains  and  your  old  mode  of  life. 
Have  you  repented  of  your  determination  ?  " 

"  Madame,"  said  Don  Q.,  "I  never  repent.  I 
am  even  now  on  my  way  to  the  coast." 

"And  you  would  stay  and  risk  all  your  future  for 
a  woman  of  whom  two  hours  ago  you  knew  noth- 
ing? You  must  not  do  it!  I  cannot  allow  it.  I 
will  not  drag  others  with  me,  and  certainly  not  you, 
sefior,  out  of  the  sunlight  of  life ! " 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       277 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me,  madame.  I  have  known 
little  sunlight  for  many  years,  and " — ^his  tone 
altered — "  I  have  sent  enemies  more  brave  and  more 
dangerous  than  yours  into  the  darkness." 

His  companion  was  about  to  speak  again,  but  he 
motioned  her  to  be  silent. 

"  If  my  presence  displeases  you,"  he  said,  "  I 
will  go  down  the  ladder  at  once,  and  see  if  I  cannot 
for  my  own  convenience  reduce  the  number  of  your 
enemies.  I  will  do  this  because  I  understand  clearly 
that  you  do  not  look  upon  me  as  a  worthy 
champion." 

"  You  are  wrong !  You  are  wrong !  I  have  met 
many  men  who  pride  themselves  on  chivalry,  but  I 
could  not  wish  for  any  in  distress  a  worthier  champ- 
ion than  yourself." 

"And  I  could  pray  for  no  other  epitaph,"  returned 
Don  Q.  "  Come,  madame,  let  us  take  counsel  to- 
gether, and  I  foresee  that  your  charity  will  soon  be 
enlisted  in  paying  for  masses  for  the  soul  of  the  chief 
of  your  enemies." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  these  words  sounded 
not  in  the  ears  of  the  ordinary  woman  of  to-day, 
but  in  those  of  a  girl,  who  had  seen  many  sad  things 
in  her  short  life,  for  the  clock  of  the  seventeenth 
century  has  not  yet  ceased  to  strike  in  Central 
Europe.  Therefore  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
which  in  itself  showed  how  great  the  tension  had 
been,  that  she,  who  called  herself  senora  Garcia,  now 
finally  capitulated,   and  rested  her  future  actions 


278  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

upon  Don  Q.  He,  on  his  part,  assumed  at  once  that 
air  of  cheerfulness  which  always  came  to  him  in 
moments  of  action.  Gone  was  the  little  dark  mis- 
anthrope, who  had  wended  his  way  through  the 
bleak  bridlepaths  of  the  mountains ;  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  another  man  had  taken  his  place. 

He  signed  to  her  to  follow  him  to  the  window, 
and  with  the  lantern  began  to  examine  the  slats 
which  filled  up  the  opening.  Each  one  was  fixed, 
and  it  looked  as  if  it  would  take  a  good  hour's  work 
to  remove  them.  But  immediately  he  set  to  the 
task,  while  his  companion  held  the  light  as  he  sawed 
at  the  wood  with  his  knife.  They  had  to  move  and 
work  with  caution  for  the  old  timbers  under  their 
feet  acted  as  a  sounding-board,  so  that  some  time 
elapsed  before  the  cool  breeze  of  the  night  blew  in 
upon  them.  No  word  passed  between  them,  though 
scraps  of  talk  from  the  room  below  floated  up  to 
them  through  the  cracks  of  flooring. 

"  I  say,  Baron,  had  we  not  better  send  a  man  out 
to  keep  watch  on  the  horses  ?  " 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  Alsin !  There  is  no 
one  left  to  run  away  with  her  highness  now  that  de 
Vassen  is  dead,"  came  Yusiloff's  reply.  "  Let  the 
fellows  rest,  when  we  start  we  must  ride  fast." 

Meanwhile,  as  each  slat  was  loosened,  it  was 
placed  softly  on  the  floor,  until  at  length  Don  Q. 
peered  out  and  pointed  across  the  broad  open  space, 
all  misty  with  starlight,  which  lay  between  the  house 
and  the  bluish-black  background  of  a  wood. 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE       279 

"  Do  you  see  that  light  far  away?  "  he  said.  "  It 
is  in  a  farmhouse  on  the  lower  shoulder  of  the  great 
mountain,  Sabio  Blanco.  .  .  .  That  light  must  be 
your  guide.  ...  I  shall  endeavour  to  let  you  down 
from  this  window  without  attracting  the  attention  of 
these  rascals  down  below.  It  is  risky,  but  I  see  no 
other  way." 

"  Let  us  go  at  once,"  replied  the  girl,  steadily. 

"  But  listen,  sefiora.  You  will  find  my  horse  in 
the  wood ;  mount  him  and  ride  down  hill  out  of  the 
wood,  then  make  straight  towards  the  light  and 
you  will  come  upon  a  broad  road  that  approaches  the 
farmhouse.  Half-way  along  this  road  it  is  joined 
by  a  track  that  leads  away  to  the  right;  follow  it 
until  you  reach  a  choza  of  reeds  in  the  heart  of  a 
coppice.  At  this  time  of  year  it  is  deserted.  Rest 
there  and  wait  for  me." 

"  Why  will  you  not  come  now?  "  she  said. 

"  Because  your  escape  would  at  once  be  dis- 
covered. They  have  been  reassured  by  hearing  us 
moving.  It  is  necessary  that  I  stay  while  you  gain  a 
good  start." 

"  I  cannot  go  and  leave  you  here." 

"  I  fear  that  you  have  no  choice,"  said  Don  Q., 
*'  for  otherwise  we  shall  be  taken  together.  When 
you  are  safe  from  harm  I  shall  make  my  escape.  If 
you  will  not  think  of  yourself,  I  beg  you  to  consider 
me. 

She  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"  You  are  generous,"  she  said.    "  Well,  I  go,  and 


28o  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

if  I  escape  and  reach  the  place  of  which  you  have 
told  me  I  will  wait  for  you  there." 

Without  further  delay  Don  Q.  twisted  his  cloak 
into  a  rope,  and,  by  the  aid  of  a  loop  made  of  his 
coat,  he  lowered  his  companion  to  the  ground. 
Then  he  watched  her  as  she  stole  away  through  the 
starshine  and  faded  into  the  shadows  of  the  wood. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

HOW    DON    Q.    PLAYED   SUBSTITUTE — (continued) 

Don  Q.  with  a  light  step  crossed  the  floor,  and 
looked  down  through  a  crack  in  the  boards  upon  the 
scene  beneath. 

The  meal  was  long  since  finished,  and  beside  the 
broken  pieces  which  remained  half  the  company 
were  sleeping  in  their  chairs.  Evidently  they  had 
ridden  both  far  and  fast. 

At  one  end  of  the  table,  however,  Yusiloff  and 
another  man  were  carrying  on  a  conversation, 
and  almost  the  first  words  which  Don  Q.  was 
destined  to  hear  proved  to  him  the  necessity  and 
wisdom  of  the  step  he  had  taken  in  remaining 
behind. 

"  I  do  not  hear  her  moving,"  said  Yusiloff. 

"  Bah,  she  is  tired  and  sleeps.  She  cannot 
escape." 

"  Still,  I  take  no  risks.  It  would  go  ill  with  us 
if  we  failed." 

At  the  words  Don  Q.  rose  and  began  to  pace  up 
and  down,  down  and  up,  in  imitation  of  the  step  of 
the  sefiora  Garcia.  The  manoeuvre  had  its  effect, 
for  the  sullen  murmuring  of  voices  showed  that 
Yusiloff,  his  suspicions  lulled  into  security,  had  re- 
newed his  conversation. 

Meantime  the  night  wore  on,  the  moon  rose  and 

281 


282  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

shone  above  the  trees,  the  eagle-owl  alone  of  living 
things  sent  forth  his  raucous  voice  over  the  sleeping 
world.  Two  hours  and  more  passed,  and  already 
Don  Q.  had  begun  to  think  that  the  time  had  come 
to  follow,  when  a  noise  of  trampling  sounded  below, 
and  then  Yusiloff's  voice,  "  Go  on  with  the  men, 
Alsin;  I  will  follow  with  madame."  Don  Q.  knelt 
down  to  take  a  final  look  into  the  room  beneath. 
What  he  saw  caused  him  to  start  back  in  surprise. 

Yusiloff  was  alone.  Cautiously  and  silently, 
he  was  collecting  all  the  furniture  into  one  great 
heap,  having  first  removed  the  ladder  which  com- 
municated with  the  loft.  His  intention  was  plain: 
he  intended  to  burn  the  posada,  and  in  it  the  woman 
he  believed  to  be  imprisoned  in  the  room  above. 

Don  Q.  did  not  wait  for  an  instant.  He  stepped 
out  upon  the  roof,  and,  fixing  his  fingers  in  the  eaves, 
dropped  to  the  ground.  The  drop  was  a  long  one, 
and  he  fell  somewhat  heavily,  but  struggled  quickly 
to  his  feet.  Looming  large  in  the  moon-mist,  and 
tied  to  a  hook  in  the  wall,  were  the  two  horses 
intended  for  Yusiloff  and  his  prisoner.  He  cut  one 
clear,  and  led  it  away.  A  hundred  yards  from  the 
inn  he  mounted  and  rode  round  to  the  front,  and  for 
several  minutes  sat  in  the  saddle  awaiting  the  devel- 
opment of  the  situation.  Everything  was  silent, 
save  that  in  the  distant  wood  the  eagle-owl  still  gave 
forth  his  wild  cry. 

At  length  against  the  background  of  starry  sky,  a 
plume   of    smoke   crept   upwards,    followed   by   a 


DON  Q.  PLAYS  SUBSTITUTE        283 

stronger  one,  and  then  by  a  burst  of  flame.  The 
door  of  the  posada  was  flung  open,  and  Yusiloflf 
dashed  forth.  Don  Q.  fully  realised  the  dastardly 
nature  of  the  man's  stratagem  and  stood  ready  to 
pluck  the  vengeance  which  was  ready  to  his  hand. 
He  came  out  from  the  darkness  like  some  Spirit  of 
Destruction,  and  met  the  big  man  as  he  rushed  from 
the  shell  of  the  burning  inn.  He  carried  a  revolver 
in  his  hand,  and  as  he  ran  he  exchanged  shots  with 
Don  Q.  Both  men  hit  their  mark,  but  whereas 
Yusiloff's  bullet  passed  through  the  top  of  Don  Q.'s 
shoulder,  the  one  which  he  received  in  return 
brought  him  to  a  stand.  He  spun  half  round  on  his 
heels  and  fell  tearing  at  the  ground  with  his  fingers. 
Don  Q.  turned,  and  without  troubling  to  look  at  his 
antagonist  rode  away  in  the  direction  of  Sabio 
Blanco. 

It  was  morning  before  Don  Q.  arrived  at  the  path 
which  led  to  the  deserted  chosa.  The  wound  in  his 
shoulder  had  begun  to  bum  and  ache  so  severely 
that  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  ride  the  last  leagues  of 
his  way.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  recognised  the 
figure  of  sefiora  Garcia  in  the  low  door-way. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "so  you  have  escaped  them? 
What  is  the  use  of  words  ?  I  shall  never  forget  the 
service  you  have  done  me." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  speak  of  it.  In  an  hour  a 
certain  Tolome,  a  contrabandist  a,  will  be  here.  He 
will  conduct  you  across  the  mountains  to  Gibraltar 
and  to  freedom." 


284  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

"And  you,  what  of  you?  " 

"  As  to  me,"  said  Don  Q.,  "  with  your  permission, 
I  will  continue  the  journey  into  the  course  of  which 
your  Serene  Highness  brought  so  pleasant  an  in- 
terruption." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

HOW    THE    END    CAME 

For  many  days  Don  Q.  had  lain  sick  in  the  shelter 
of  the  woods  which  clothe  the  eastern  slope  of  Sabio 
Blanco.  He  had  been  wounded  at  the  posada  of 
Ramon;  the  bullet  had  splintered  the  bone  of  his 
left  shoulder,  and  he  had  barely  been  able  to  gain 
the  shelter  of  the  wood.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
he  was  very  ill  by  the  time  that  his  trusted  servant, 
Robledo,  travelling  to  meet  him,  had  seen  far  away  a 
wisp  of  smoke  steal  up  against  the  lemon-coloured 
dawn,  followed  by  a  second  smoke,  and  had  made 
speed  to  obey  the  signal.  Thirty  hours  later  he 
found  his  master. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Don  Q.  that  it  was  Robledo 
who  thus  found  him,  for  the  shock  of  the  wound, 
the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  hours  of  exposure  had 
done  their  work,  and  the  brigand  was  far  gone  in 
delirium.  When  Robledo  chanced  upon  him  he  was 
sitting  beside  a  fire  of  leaves  and  twigs  in  the  grip 
of  his  temporary  madness.  A  pine-marten  from  his 
hole  in  a  decaying  tree  looked  down  upon  the  man 
who  had  invaded  his  solitude  with  wondering  eyes, 
and  already  a  vulture  had  signalled  to  his  fellows 
across  the  ether  that  matters  which  might  be  of 
ultimate  interest  to  his  kind  were  developing  in  the 
warm  darkness  of  the  woods  below. 


286  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Now,  Robledo  el  cazador  had  slain  many  an  ibex 
upon  the  great  mountain  of  Sabio  Blanco,  so  that 
neither  its  woods  nor  its  rocks  held  any  secrets  from 
him.  He  lifted  his  master's  light  weight  in  his 
sinewy  arms,  and,  having  stamped  out  the  fire, 
passed  higher  up  the  mountain  with  his  burden. 
Upon  the  very  rim  of  the  timber-line  he  built  a 
shelter  of  branches,  thatched  it  with  moss,  performed 
such  rough  surgery  as  he  was  capable  of,  and  there 
and  then  commenced  his  wrestle  with  Nature  for 
Don  Q.'s  life. 

To  describe  in  detail  the  succeeding  days  would 
be  tedious.  Twice  Robledo  went  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  each  time  the  farmers  of  the  foothills  were 
forced  to  lament  his  coming  in  loss  of  stock.  Kids 
and  fowls  he  raided,  and  a  water-skin  full  of  milk.  It 
proved  the  resource  of  the  man  that  at  his  second 
visit  he  caught  and  carried  oflF  a  milch  goat,  which 
he  conveyed,  protesting,  across  the  saddle  of  his 
mule  to  his  camp  under  the  very  brow  of  Sabio 
Blanco. 

At  first  all  Robledo's  nursing  had  but  a  disappoint- 
ing result.  Day  by  day  Don  Q.  grew  weaker  and 
weaker,  took  little  nourishment  and  was  alternately 
assailed  with  paroxysms  of  dry  heat  and  fits  of 
devastating  ague.  The  meat  diet  on  which  he  was 
forced  to  subsist  inflamed  his  wound,  and  the  reac- 
tion lowered  his  vitality.  Indeed,  the  arrival  of  the 
milch  goat  was  the  event  from  which  may  be  dated 
the  improvement  in  his  condition.     Once  he  had 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  287 

turned  the  corner,  however,  his  progress  was  both 
swift  and  satisfactory. 

But  with  his  improvement  a  new  factor  came  into 
the  scheme  of  his  Hfe.  The  farmers  began  to  notice 
the  depredations  of  Robledo,  depredations  which  at 
first  they  had  been  satisfied  to  place  to  the  account  of 
accident,  or  to  the  agency  of  the  two  or  three  families 
of  lynxes  which  eked  out  their  existence  among  the 
crags  and  thickets  of  the  mountain.  But,  at  length, 
when  it  became  necessary  for  Robledo  to  "  borrow  " 
a  couple  of  warm  capas,  a  saucepan  of  iron,  and 
sundry  bags  of  flour,  the  farmers  began  to  suspect 
that  the  creatures  of  prey  had  been  reinforced  from 
the  ranks  of  humanity. 

Fortunately  for  the  two  outlaws,  the  mind  of  the 
Spanish  farmer  of  the  despoplados  works  slowly. 
Manana — to-morrow,  is  still  the  most  hard  worked 
word  in  their  vocabulary,  and  beyond  the  fact  that 
they  reloaded  the  old  muzzle-loading  guns  which 
hung  upon  their  walls,  they  took  for  the  moment  no 
other  definite  step,  and  this  omission  of  theirs  had 
doubtless  an  important  bearing  upon  the  course  of 
events. 

No  sooner  had  the  fever  left  his  frame  than  Don 
Q.  began  to  mend  rapidly,  so  that  the  time  soon 
came  when  he  was  so  far  restored  to  health  as  to  be 
able  to  talk  to  Robledo,  and  to  discuss,  plans  for  the 
future. 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  this  wound  of  mine,  both 
you  and  I  would  in  all  probability  be  upon  the  ocean 


288  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  already  nearing  the  coasts  of  Mexico.  Should 
you  be  glad,  Robledo  ?  " 

"  I  desire  to  be  where  my  lord  is,"  answered  the 
young  mountaineer. 

"  In  truth  I  believe  you  do,  Robledo.  But  when 
one  has  lived  such  a  life  as  yours  has  been,  one  is 
apt  to  find  an  existence  lived  under  the  shadow  of 
the  law  a  trifle  insipid.  At  least,  so  I  should 
imagine,'*  continued  Don  Q.,  speaking  more  to  him- 
self than  to  his  companion,  "  though,  indeed,  I  do 
not  speak  from  experience.  But  my  words  are,  I 
fear,  a  little  above  your  intelligence,  my  child;  yet 
I  think  you  will  understand  me  if  I  sum  up  the 
matter  in  a  proverb :  *  No  meat  is  as  sweet  as 
that  which  one  poaches  from  the  land  of  an  enemy.* 
Is  not  that  your  opinion?" 

"  Yes,  lord,"  said  Robledo  with  fervour.  Before 
he  became  a  brigand,  or,  indeed,  afterwards,  the 
cazador  had  rarely  missed  an  opportunity  of  poach- 
ing a  deer  or  a  bustard  from  the  neighbouring 
estates.  A  passion  for  illegitimate  sport  burned 
unappeasably   in  his  blood. 

Don  Q.  sighed.  Then  in  his  characteristic 
manner  he  brushed  away  speculation  and  began  io 
address  himself  to  the  problem  of  the  moment. 

"  In  a  very  few  days  I  shall  be  strong  enough 
to  travel.  To-morrow  you  will  go  to  Castelleno 
and  arrange  with  Tolome,  the  contrahandista,  that 
we  meet  him  in  the  defile  of  the  Black  Pine  Trees." 

"  Yes,  lord." 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  289 

"  Tolome  will  conduct  us  across  the  further 
passes.  We  will  take  boat  in  one  of  those  small 
bays  which  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs  and  arrive 
by  night  in  the  harbour  of  Gibraltar.  Once  there 
we  can  embark  for  England,  and  from  England 
to  Mexico  is  merely  an  affair  of  days.  You  will 
arrange,  Robledo,  that  we  meet  Tolome  on  the 
night  of  Friday.  It  cannot  be  sooner,  for  my 
strength  is  not  yet  whole,  and  it  must  not  be  later, 
because  of  the  waning  moon.  We  shall  need  her 
light  to  show  us  the  path  over  the  passes.  And  now 
make  up  the  fire,  fill  the  jars  with  water,  and  when 
I  wake  to-morrow  be  six  leagues  upon  your  way." 


19 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

HOW    THE    END    CAME {cOfltiflUed) 

In  the  town  of  Castelleno,  upon  the  outskirts  of 
the  poor  quarter,  is  a  Uttle  desolate  street  that 
possesses  a  very  evil  reputation.  The  dwellers  in 
this  street  seem  never  to  sleep,  or  if  they  do  so  they 
choose  unusual  hours.  Often  when  the  rest  of  the 
town  is  overlaid  with  a  mantle  of  silence,  the  brown 
dust  of  the  Calle  San  Jose  is  disturbed  by  the  hoofs 
of  mules,  and  its  echoes  softly  wakened  by  the 
contrabandista^s  password. 

About  one  o'clock  in  the  small  hours  of  Wednes- 
day morning  Robledo,  afoot  and  leading  his  mule, 
crossed  the  wooden  bridge  which  gives  upon  this 
street.  He  passed  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  open 
drain,  which  flows  down  the  centre  of  the  road. 
The  choir  of  bull-frogs  in  the  valley  behind  him 
sent  up  their  "  koax,  koax,"  to  the  stars.  Robledo 
knocked  a  couple  of  times  in  a  peculiar  manner  upon 
the  door  of  one  of  the  houses.  A  man  opened  it. 
A  few  words  passed,  and  Robledo  found  himself 
in  a  large,  low  apartment  considerably  below  the 
level  of  the  street. 

A  hrasero  in  one  corner  sent  forth  a  glow  against 
the  ruddy  background,  of  which  one  or  two  figures 
were  discernible.     A  few  kegs  with  some  square 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  291 

cases,  which,  to  the  initiated  eye,  could  contain 
nothing  but  tobacco,  littered  the  floor. 

Tolome  hesitated,  then  spoke. 

"  We  have  here,"  he  said,  "  the  makings  of  much 
trouble  were  we  discovered.  If  you  were  to  walk 
in  the  Calle  and  make  up  your  mind  concerning  the 
weather — " 

Robledo  bowed,  and  took  the  hint.  He  con- 
sidered it  had  been  coarsely  conveyed.  Tolome, 
of  course,  wanted  to  secrete  his  spoils  in  some  hid- 
ing-place, and  equally  he  did  not  wish  Robledo  to 
learn  where  that  hiding-place  was.  Both  were  men 
who  lived  in  defiance  of  the  Spanish  law,  and,  as 
such,  were  both  subject  to  a  certain  unwritten  code 
of  honour. 

"  Does  the  hill-thief  think  that  I  would  betray 
his  house  and  salt,"  muttered  Robledo,  "  that  he 
turns  me  thus  into  the  street?  If  I  were  here  upon 
my  own  business  I  should  give  him  a  lesson." 

The  particular  form  which  Robledo's  lesson 
would  have  taken  can  be  guessed.  In  the  Calle  San 
Jose  such  are  given  only  with  the  knife.  But  Rob- 
ledo remembered  in  time  that  he  was  the  mes- 
senger of  Don  Q.,  and  he  had  served  the  brigand  too 
long  to  dream  of  turning  aside  from  his  commands 
to  dally  with  a  merely  personal  affair.  So  when  at 
length  Tolome  sought  him  in  the  moonlight,  with 
profuse  apologies,  Robledo  waved  his  hand,  re- 
marked :  "  It  is  less  than  nothing,"  and  entered  the 
house,  where  at  once  the  two  fell  to  business. 


292  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Of  all  that  they  said  it  is  necessary  to  set  forth 
but  little.  Suffice  it  that  one  spoke  few  words  and 
the  other  yet  fewer,  that  they  conversed  in  a 
language  hard  to  understand  owing  to  the  strange 
slang  which  makes  up  three-fourths  of  the  contra- 
bandista's  daily  vocabulary,  and  that  half-an-hour 
had  not  gone  over  their  heads  before  Robledo's 
errand  was  complete,  and  Tolome  had  arranged  to 
be  at  the  rendezvous  appointed  by  Don  Q.  early 
on  the  night  of  Friday. 

Now  fate  so  ordered  that  while  Robledo  was 
talking  with  Tolome  in  the  San  Jose,  Sub-Lieu- 
tenant Gregorio  Merou,  of  the  Carbineers,  was 
stationing  his  score  of  men  in  the  shadows  out- 
side it. 

This  Merou  was  a  hard,  short  man,  chiefly  re- 
markable for  a  mouth  which  seemed  to  suck  all  his 
words  inwards.  He  wore,  also,  large  round 
spectacles,  which  hid  a  pair  of  dismal,  unfriendly 
eyes.  Such  was  the  outward  appearance  of  Greg- 
orio Merou,  yet  it  is  but  fair  to  say  that  his  record 
belied  it  He  had  risen  from  the  ranks,  and  had 
been  concerned  in  the  capture  of  the  famous  gipsy 
Salto  in  the  Pyrenees ;  later  he  had  been  transferred 
to  Andalucia,  where  he  at  once  had  set  himself, 
with  all  the  cold  and  passionless,  yet  immutable  de- 
termination inherent  in  his  character,  to  break  up  the 
many  bands  of  smugglers  and  petty  footpads  which 
infested  the  district. 

It  was  some  time — though  Tolome  was  unaware 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  293 

of  the  fact — since  the  pale  eyes  behind  the  spectacles 
had  first  dwelt  upon  his  doings.  But  from  the 
moment  they  did  so  the  goings  out  and  comings  in 
of  the  smuggler  had  become  a  source  of  continual 
interest  to  Merou. 

"  There  rides  the  man  who  shall  bring  me  my 
full  lieutenancy,"  the  Carbineer  reflected,  and  he 
began  to  watch  for  an  opportunity  to  take  Tolome 
red-handed.  That  opportunity  had  at  length  come. 
All  day  and  all  through  the  early  night  Merou  and 
his  men  had  ridden  hard  on  the  track  of  the  contra- 
bandistas,  and  now  they  were  but  awaiting  a 
signal  to  crown  the  affair  with  a  capture.  Merou, 
indeed,  had  already  pressed  the  official  whistle  to 
his  teeth  when  Robledo,  having  said  his  farewell, 
stepped  out  into  the  night. 

The  events  of  the  next  few  moments  included  a 
struggle,  in  the  course  of  which  the  hrazero  was 
overturned,  and  knives  and  bludgeons  did  their  work 
in  the  dark.  But  the  odds  of  twenty  to  two  made 
the  result  a  foregone  conclusion,  so  that  when  a 
candle  of  fat  was  lighted,  its  radiance  shone  over 
the  complete  victory  of  the  law.  Thereupon  fol- 
lowed the  searching  of  the  house.  Contraband 
goods  were  hauled  from  their  shy  retirement,  and 
set  forth  in  a  damning  array  upon  the  earthen  floor. 
Merou  took  an  inventory  of  them  in  his  methodical 
fashion,  while  the  wife  of  Tolome,  a  dark, 
dishevelled  Toledan  girl,  wept  noisily  and  fiercely 
from  the  stool  by  the  hrazero. 


294  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

At  length  Merou,  having  finished  his  task,  crossed 
the  room  and  stood  looking  down  at  his  captives. 

"  Here,  one  of  you,"  he  ordered,  turning  to  his 
men,  "  bring  the  Hght  so  that  we  may  see  what 
birds  we  have  caught  in  my  net.  Ah,  you,  Tolome ! 
But  who  is  this?  I  don't  know  this  fellow's  face." 
He  touched  Robledo  with  his  foot.  "  Your  name  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

Robledo  made  no  reply.  He  knew  from  experi- 
ence that  the  less  a  man  says  when  he  speaks  with 
the  law  the  better  it  is  for  himself. 

There  followed  a  silence,  during  which  Merou's 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  dry  sobbing  of  the 
woman  beside  the  hrasero.  Suddenly  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  came  slowly  forward. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  my  husband?  " 
she  demanded  in  a  dazed  voice. 

Merou  pointed  to  a  corner  of  the  room  where 
one  of  his  men  was  nursing  a  wounded  shoulder. 

"  That  was  your  husband's  work,"  he  said  grimly. 

"  If  the  man  dies but  that  is  unlikely.     And 

so,  I  think,  it  will  be  Ceuta — ten  or  perhaps  fifteen 
years  of  Ceuta,  the  convict-prison  in  Africa." 

The  officer  paused.  In  spite  of  his  own  habitual 
silence  he  always  encouraged  his  prisoners  to  speak. 
He  was  well  aware  that  in  the  horror  of  the  early 
moments  of  arrest  tongues  are  apt  to  be  loosened, 
and  not  once  but  many  times  he  had  profited  by  the 
fact. 

"  We  have  only  been  married  three  weeks,"  cried 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  295 

the  Toledan.  "  You  will  take  him  to  Ceuta,  and 
I  shall  never  see  him  again.  Ai !  Ai !  Will  noth- 
ing soften  your  heart?  " 

Merou  smiled  icily.  "  Nothing  will  make  me 
for^o  my  duty." 

"  Nothing?  "  said  Tolome,  suddenly. 

"  Nothing  that  you  can  offer." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that." 

A  tone  in  his  prisoner's  voice  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  Merou. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Suppose,"  said  Tolome,  "  I  were  to  offer  you 
a  prisoner  in  exchange  for  myself,  a  man  beside 
whom  I  am  nothing.  A  man  whose  capture  would 
bring  you  a  captaincy !  " 

"  There  is  only  one  man  in  Spain,  if,  indeed  he 
be  still  in  Spain,  whose  capture  would  bring  me 
that,"  said  Merou,  quietly. 

"And  if  I  show  you  how  to  take  that  man  ?  " 

"  Tolome,"  cried  Robledo  suddenly,  "  you  are 
mad !    What  is  your  life  that  you  should — " 

"  Silence!  "  snarled  Merou.  "  But,  pah !  I  waste 
time.  How  should  you  be  able  to  do  what  you 
boast  of?  Beside  it  is  reported  that  Don  Q.  has 
escaped  out  of  Spain.  What  have  you  to  say  to 
that?" 

"  He  is  escaping.    He  has  not  yet  escaped." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  Because  this  evening  there  came  one  with  a 
message  to  me  from  Don  Q.     The  message  com- 


296  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

manded  me  to  meet  him  punctually  at — at  a  cer- 
tain place  from  which  I  was  to  conduct  him  across 
the  mountains. 

"Who  brought  the  message?" 

"  Robledo,"  answered  Tolome,  flinging  the  last 
shreds  of  compunction  to  the  winds.  "  Robledo ! 
His  servant.  Now  do  you  believe  me?  Now  will 
you  let  me  go  free?  Ah!  Keep  him  off!  Keep 
him  off!" 

At  the  words,  in  spite  of  his  bonds,  Robledo  had 
hurled  himself  upon  the  traitor,  striking  and  kicking 
him  as  the  two  rolled  together  in  the  dust. 

In  an  instant  the  troopers  had  dragged  them 
apart.  As  they  did  so  Robledo  spat  full  in  Tolome's 
face. 

"  I  spit  in  the  face  of  a  traitor  I  Early  may  it 
decay  in  death !  "  said  the  young  brigand,  bitterly. 

It  was  thirty-six  hours  later,  and  each  one  of  the 
hours  seemed  to  Robledo  an  intrinsic  part  of  a 
long  and  evil  dream.  After  he  attacked 
Tolome  in  the  house  in  the  Calle  San  Jose,  he  was 
taken  outside  while  the  smuggler  spent  the  better 
portion  of  an  hour  in  talk  with  Merou.  What 
passed  between  them  Robledo  did  not  know,  but 
presently  Merou  came  out  from  the  inner  room, 
his  usually  expressionless  face  lit  with  excitement. 
As  he  walked  he  muttered,  "  What  a  hand  to  play ! 
Oh,  what  a  hand !  " 

A  dozen  minutes  were  occupied  in  an  ague  fit  of 
preparation,  and  then  at  a  word  of  command  a 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  297 

couple  of  troopers  bound  Robledo  upon  a  mule, 
and  the  whole  party,  including  Tolome,  mounted 
and  passed  away  out  of  the  sleeping  town.  Dawn, 
which  surprised  the  cavalcade  upon  a  lonely  road  in 
the  despoplados,  also  discovered  to  Robledo  the  main 
details  of  the  trap  which  was  to  be  laid  for  Don  Q. 
The  dozen  Carbineers,  who  formed  the  Sub-Lieu- 
tenant's command,  had  divested  themselves  of  their 
uniforms  and  assumed  instead  the  gaudy  dress  of 
sierran  contrabandistas.  Evidently  the  scheme  was 
both  simple  and  adequate.  Don  Q.,  suspecting  noth- 
ing, would  be  at  the  rendezvous  in  the  defile  of  the 
Black  Pines,  and  he  would  walk  unsuspecting  into 
the  hands  of  his  enemies.  Robledo  groaned  when 
he  thought  of  it,  passed  the  time  sullenly  in  killing 
Tolome  in  imagination  by  various  and  dreadful 
deaths,  and  filled  in  the  intervals  of  these  dreams 
with  strange  fierce  little  prayers  to  such  saints  as  he 
thought  were  best  fitted  to  help  him  in  his  need.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  hills,  knowing  little  of  the  great 
world. 

So  the  time  went  by,  and  hour  by  hour,  as  the 
party  wound  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  sierra,  Rob- 
ledo began  to  wonder  more  and  more  what  part  in 
the  forthcoming  drama  he  himself  had  been  cast 
for.  Why  had  they  brought  him?  But  as  to  this 
he  remained  ignorant  until  the  final  hours  of  the 
Thursday  night. 

That  evening  the  Carbineers  camped  in  a  wood 
some  five  miles  distant  from  the  defile  of  the  Black 


298  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Pines.  Through  the  trees  Robledo  could  see  the 
white  head  of  the  mountain  Sabio  Blanco.  He  had 
been  fastened  to  a  log,  and  as  he  lay  counting  the 
stars  between  the  tree-tops,  the  young  mountaineer 
broke  suddenly  into  song.  The  words  which  he 
sang  had  long  been  popular  upon  the  country-side 
where  years  before  a  belief  had  become  current  that 
the  man,  if  ever  there  came  to  be  such  an  individual, 
who  killed  or  captured  Don  Q.,  would  have  to 
deal  with  those  powers  of  darkness  to  whom  the 
brigand  was  supposed  to  owe  and  pay  a  sinister 
allegiance.  This  is  a  rough  translation  of  the  words 
of  the  legend  which  Robledo  sang : 

"  And  he  shall  never  know  again 
The  joys  of  sunlight  or  of  rain. 
He  nevermore  shall  see  his  wife. 
The  darkness  closes,  and  his  life 
Is  forfeit  to  the  ghost  and  ghoul.    .    .    .  ** 

So  far  had  Robledo  gone  when  Merou  leaped  up 
from  his  place  by  the  bivouac,  strode  across  to  the 
singer,  commanding  silence.  Robledo  perforce  broke 
off  while  Merou  scowled  down  at  him. 

*'  I  have  heard  those  words  before,"  he  said, 
"  why  do  you  sing  them  now  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  that  you  will  hear  them  again.  As 
to  why  I  sing  them  I  do  not  know.  They  came  to 
me,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  darkness." 

The  Carbineers  had  clustered  round.  One  or  two 
crossed  themselves. 

"  Other  things  come  to  me  also,"  said  Robledo. 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  299 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  hear  voices  singing  for 
the  souls  of  the  dead,  and  I  see  seven  black 
crosses  ..." 

*'  Two  will  be  enough,"  said  Merou  in  his  cold 
voice.    "  One  for  the  old  panther  and  one  for  you." 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

HOW    THE    END    CAME — (contiflUed) 

Whether  it  was  due  to  the  words  of  Robledo 
or  to  other  causes,  such  as  the  excitement  of  the 
preceding  hours,  one  thing  is  certain,  the  party 
that  two  hours  later  passed  into  the  defile  of  Black 
Pines  was  strung  to  a  nerve-breaking  tension.  In 
front  rode  Tolome,  and  as  he  neared  the  mouth 
of  the  gorge  he  gave  the  musical  and  peculiar  call 
which  is  the  shibboleth  of  outlawry.  They  paused 
for  an  answer.  On  all  sides  under  the  moon  rose 
the  grim,  black  crags  which  could  have  hidden  an 
army. 

The  night  had  fallen  quite  still,  so  still  that  far 
away  upon  Sabio  Blanco  the  strange  cry  of  a 
questing  lynx  sounded  like  a  whispered  incitement 
to  the  deeds  of  the  hour.  Beyond  that  there  was 
no  answer.  Once  again  Tolome  lifted  up  his  voice 
and  sent  his  call  and  signal  climbing  the  crags,  and 
once  again  the  party  in  the  gut  of  the  defile  held 
their  breath  and  waited. 

In  those  slow  seconds  Robledo,  gagged  and 
bound,  hoped  against  hope.  But,  alas!  this  time 
the  signal  was  answered,  and  a  figure  rose  from  its 
lair  in  the  rocks  above  them.  Robledo  recognised 
and  watched  it  with  agony  of  solicitude. 

"  Tolome ! "  cried  the  voice  of  Don  Q. 

aoo 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  301 

"  I  am  here,  lord,"  answered  the  traitor. 

*'  Good,"  said  the  voice  from  the  cliff.  "  But 
where  is  Robledo?" 

"  By ,  the  villain  is  suspicious.     There's  but 

one  way."  Merou  tore  the  gag  from  Robledo's 
mouth  and  thrust  a  pistol-barrel  into  his  back. 
'*  Shout  that  all's  well.  Shout!  Wave  your  hat! 
Send  your  voice  to  him!  Do  it,  and  you  shall  go 
free,  like  Tolome!  Refuse,  and  I  blow  you  in 
pieces ! " 

Robledo  worked  his  dry  and  shrunken  tongue 
round  his  mouth.  For  ten  full  seconds  an  intense 
and  monstrous  silence  gloated  above  the  drama. 

Then  Robledo  found  his  voice,  and  sent  it  ring- 
ing in  harsh  and  whistling  cadence  up  the  cliffs. 
The  words  he  used  are  not  known  nor  ever  will 
be.  Each  teller  of  the  tale  gives  them  a  different 
rendering.     But  one  thing  is  certain. 

As  the  message  which  Robledo  shouted  came  to 
the  ears  of  Don  Q.,  a  reply  rang  back :  "  Bravely, 
my  child,  bravely !  "  and  a  sudden  smile  gleamed 
out  upon  the  worn  face  of  the  young  moun- 
taineer as  his  shattered  body  fell  forward  upon 
his  mule. 

For  a  little  space  the  Carbineers  did  not  move. 
The  involuntary  pause  was  their  unintentional 
tribute  to  the  manner  of  Robledo's  death.  Merou 
was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  He  shouted  out 
orders.  At  the  same  instant  from  the  strip  of 
brushwood  upon  the  rugged  hillside  a  bullet  was 


302  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

sent  upon  its  way.  Then  another.  Tolome  pitched 
forward  from  his  saddle  and  lay  drumming  his  heels 
upon  the  hard  road. 

*'  Open  order !  "  roared  Merou.    "  Open  out!    Up 
the  hill!     Up  the  hill!     There  he  goes.     Shoot! 
Shoot!" 

The  figure  of  Don  Q.  had  shown  for  an  instant, 
to  be  saluted  by  a  volley.    He  seemed  to  stagger. 

"  He's  down !  He's  hit !  "  shouted  the  Carbineers, 
as  their  blue,  jagged  shadows  disappeared  in  the 
dusk  of  the  woods. 

But,  though  it  was  quite  true  that  a  stray  ball 
from  Merou's  revolver  had  given  Don  Q.  a  flesh- 
wound  in  the  thigh,  the  brigand  did  not  slacken 
speed. 

An  anger  such  as  he  had  not  known  since  first 
he  came  into  the  mountains  burned  and  scalded  him. 
As  he  ran,  the  scene  and  circumstance  of  Robledo's 
death  shone  before  his  eyes.  He  climbed  upwards 
and  upwards.  Below  and  behind  him  echoed  the 
noises  of  the  pursuit,  the  crack  of  sticks  and  the 
duller  voices  of  stones  as  they  crashed  and  leaped 
down  the  mountain. 

Don  Q.  was  still  weak  from  his  long  illness,  but 
his  was  a  frame  which  drew  its  pith  rather  from 
the  spirit  than  the  flesh.  There  was  one  spot  which 
he  desired  to  win.  Escape  by  running  was  impossi- 
ble. The  wound  in  his  thigh  threw  out  upon  the 
leaves  and  roots  a  scarlet  advertisement  of  his 
path. 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  303 

To  stop  was  to  court  certain  death,  and,  although 
death  had  never  possessed  great  terrors  for  the 
grim  old  brigand,  upon  the  manner  of  it  he  was 
ever  an  epicure.  All  his  life  he  had  a  strange 
horror  of  the  idea  of  his  body  falling  into  the  hands 
of  his  foes.  He  had  also  a  distinctly  classical  pref- 
erence for  passing  to  the  underworld  with  a  goodly 
company  of  his  enemies.  So  he  ran  onward  and  up- 
ward, until  he  entered  a  patch  of  blasted  pines, 
making  always  for  the  caves  upon  the  eastern  side 
of  the  mountain,  where  were  many  such  in  a  great 
sandstone  cliff. 

One  there  was  in  particular,  a  cavern  known  as 
the  Wolfs  Hole,  so  called  because  of  some  legend 
of  old  Moorish  days.  Could  he  but  gain  this  place. 
Ah !  then  he  might  turn  upon  his  pursuers.  Then, 
with  the  solid  rock  to  guard  his  back,  he  might 
fight  a  fight  that  would  remain  in  the  minds  of  men ! 

So  he  ran  on  and  ever  on,  but  even  in  his  flight 
the  scarred  old  wolf  snapped  disastrously  back  over 
his  shoulder.  Once  and  again  he  paused,  and,  rest- 
ing his  rifle  against  a  tree  fired  at  the  leaders  of 
the  chase.  At  the  third  shot  a  cry  told  him  that 
the  number  of  his  enemies  had  grown  less.  Then  on 
again. 

Presently  Don  Q.  ran  out  of  the  shelter  of  the 
final  wood  and  began  to  cross  a  boulder-strewn  and 
arid  upland.  His  strength  was  failing,  and  he  no 
longer  dared  wait  to  fire  on  his  pursuers.  They,  too 
had  learned  caution.    No  longer  did  the  chase  tail 


304  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

out  with  pride  of  place  belonging  to  the  swiftest, 
now  they  advanced  evenly  and  steadily  in  open  order, 
seven  men,  covering  a  hundred  yards  of  the  hillside. 
Every  half  kilometre,  at  a  word  of  command,  they 
sank  upon  their  knees  and  fired  a  volley. 

Now  the  great  sandstone  cliff  was  but  half  a  mile 
away,  the  caves  dark  as  wounds  upon  its  shining 
face ;  now  it  was  a  matter  of  but  a  hundred  yards ; 
now  the  stumbling  figure  of  Don  Q.  showed  clearly 
against  it,  to  the  echoes  of  a  final  volley.  How  the 
component  parts  of  that  volley  failed  in  their  work 
must  remain  a  mystery.  The  range  was  short,  the 
mark  clear.  Perhaps  each  trooper  hoped  that  his 
comrade's  bullet  would  do  the  deed,  and  that  upon 
his  comrade's  head  would  fall  the  curse  "  of  ghost 
and  ghoul." 

However  that  may  have  been,  a  moment  later 
Don  Q.'s  shadow,  grotesquely  monstrous,  black  as 
spilled  ink,  towered  upon  the  cliff  with  outstretched 
arms  like  a  welcoming  demon  ere  the  brigand's  foot- 
steps echoed  across  the  threshold  of  the  cave.  Lying 
there  panting,  he  gulped  wine  from  his  flask,  and 
proceeded  to  take  stock  of  his  surroundings. 

The  hole  through  which  he  had  crawled,  for  it 
was  little  more,  made  a  circular  tunnel  in  the  rock. 
Behind  him  stretched  the  vast  aisles  of  the  cave, 
unexplored  by  man,  at  least  in  this  generation. 

Outside  he  could  hear  his  enemies  talking. 

"  He  has  gone  to  ground,"  said  a  voice. 

"  He  ran  like  an  ibex,"  said  another. 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  305 

"  We  ought  to  have  killed  him  with  our  last 
volley." 

Then  came  the  cold  tones  of  Merou,  still  a  little 
distressed  by  running. 

"  Here,  Cifuentes,  you  know  the  mountain. 
What  of  this  cave?" 

*'  It  is  called  the  Wolfs  Hole,"  said  Cifuentes. 

"  Yes,"  remarked  a  voice  from  inside,  the  voice 
of  Don  Q.,  "  it  is  called  the  Wolf's  Hole,  and  the 
wolf  is  waiting." 

"Ah,"  cried  Merou.  "And  we  are  coming  to 
kill  the  wolf." 

"Gk)od!"  said  Don  Q. 

There  followed  a  consultation  outside,  and  the 
noise  of  men  running. 

Then  a  shuffling  in  the  tunnel.  Don  Q.  struck  a 
match  and  held  it  in  his  left  hand  above  his  head. 
In  his  right  he  grasped  his  rifle  by  the  barrel. 

"  It's  no  bigger  than  a  burrow,"  said  a  voice. 
The  shuffling  ceased. 

Evidently  the  explorer  had  repented  of  his  hardi- 
hood.   The  match  in  Don  Q.'s  fingers  went  out. 

At  last,  after  several  minutes  of  silence,  the  noise 
within  the  tunnel  was  resumed,  and  presently  a 
head  was  thrust  from  beneath  the  penthouse  of  rock. 
Don  Q.'s  iron-shod  rifle-butt  fell  on  it  with  a  crash. 
"  For  Robledo,"  he  cried  in  a  great  voice. 

Immediately  a  second  trooper  leaped  from  the 
tunnel  firing  as  he  came.  His  bullet  crashed  into 
the  rock.  Don  Q.  had  no  time  to  put  his  rifle  to 
20 


3o6  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

his  shoulder.  He  pressed  it  against  his  mark  and 
drew  the  trigger.  The  smell  of  singed  cloth  rose 
heavy  on  the  air. 

The  ominous  sounds  which  had  followed  their 
companion's  entry  into  the  cave  were  not  without 
their  effect  upon  those  outside. 

Merou's  voice  said. 

"  You  next,  Cifuentes." 

"  It's  death,  but  here  goes !  " 

"  Stop !  Here  is  the  wind.  We  have  him  now,'* 
cried  Merou  in  exultation.  And  he  rapidly  whis- 
pered some  orders. 

Half-an-hour  passed,  during  which  the  silence 
was  broken  only  by  footsteps,  and  the  occasional 
casting  of  heavy  weights  to  the  ground.  Don  Q. 
peered  forth.  He  could  see  nothing.  Evidently  the 
hole  had  been  closed.  He  lit  another  match  and 
looked  round.  Behind  him  the  cave  stretched  back 
into  the  bowels  of  the  mountain.  There  was  no 
escape  for  him  in  that  direction. 

Even  as  he  turned  his  nostrils  were  assailed  by 
the  first  whiffs  of  smoke.  He  understood  now.  The 
wind  must  have  risen  in  the  east,  and  his  foes  were 
collecting  wood  to  make  a  smoke  under  cover  of 
which  they  might  enter  the  cave.  As  the  fire  gained 
hold  the  wind  drove  the  smoke  down  the  tunnel  as 
through  a  narrow  chimney,  and  with  the  smoke 
came  the  Carbineers. 

Wrapped  as  they  were  in  that  armoury  of  vapour, 
Don  Q.  could  not  see  them,  and  the  first  that  he 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  307 

knew  of  their  presence  was  the  face  of  one  of  them 
within  ten  inches  of  his  own.  Then  began  a  battle 
in  the  smoke — a  battle  in  which  no  man  could  see 
his  foeman's  face,  and  in  which  Don  Q.  shone 
pre-eminent.  All  were  his  enemies.  He,  at  least, 
could  make  no  mistake.  Whenever  a  form  loomed 
up  in  front  of  him  he  attacked  it.  As  he  fought, 
too,  he  cried  out  the  names  of  his  followers,  living 
and  dead,  Esteban  and  Grulla,  Durmio  and  Caspar, 
and  he  answered  himself  in  their  voices.  Confusion 
seized  the  Carbineers.  They  fought  with  their  com- 
panions, coughing  and  shouting  in  the  smoke.  The 
smell  of  powder  added  its  sour  reek  to  the  rawness 
of  burning  wood.  Then  by  degrees,  each  by  each, 
the  medley  of  voices  sank  away  until  but  a  single  one 
was  left. 

"  Bernardo !  Martinez !  "  it  cried  and  other  names 
of  its  comrades.  It  was  the  voice  of  Cifuentes,  the 
trooper  who  had  seen  Don  Q.  in  the  smoke,  and 
whose  knee  had  been  broken  in  the  fight.  At  last 
it  also  was  silent,  for  the  man  grew  afraid. 

The  following  is  taken  from  the  sworn  statement 
of  this  same  Cifuentes,  which  he  made  before  the 
court-martial  that  inquired  into  the  affair. 

"  I  ceased  shouting,"  said  Cifuentes  in  his  state- 
ment, "  because  none  answered,  and  I  feared  that 
the  brigands  would  slay  me.  It  was  about  the  hour 
of  dawn  that  the  smoke  began  to  clear  away,  and 
presently  the  sun  shone  through  the  tunnel  by  which 
we  had  come.    It  shone  yellow  and  very  bright  like 


308  DON  Q.  IN  THE  SIERRA 

a  gigantic  lamp.  The  smoke  had  cleared  now,  all 
save  a  little  which  clung  about  the  ground.  In  this, 
like  islands  in  a  lake,  lay  the  bodies  of  those  who  had 
fallen.  I  could  count  six  such.  I  dragged  myself 
to  where  they  lay.  First  there  was  Rodriguez  and 
near  him  Bernardo.  I  think  they  must  have  shot 
each  other  in  error  in  the  smoke.  Then  I  came  to 
Martinez.  He  lay  alone.  He  had  met  his  death  by 
the  knife.  By  the  body  of  Martinez  I  paused  awhile, 
wondering  that  the  brigands  did  not  return,  but 
presently  I  crawled  on  farther,  and  there  was  my 
officer  Gregorio  Merou.  He  lay  upon  his  face  and 
his  hands  were  soiled  with  dust.  He  was  dead  also. 
When  I  looked  closer  I  started  back  in  horror,  for 
the  wound  through  which  his  life  had  passed  was 
in  the  root  of  the  back,  such  a  wound  as  he  him- 
self had  given  to  the  brigand  Robledo  in  the  valley. 
I  was  astonished  that  I  did  not  find  any  of  the 
brigands,  and  then  I  understood  that  there  could 
have  been  but  one  brigand,  Don  Q.,  and  that  he 
had  called  upon  the  names  of  his  comrades,  deceiving 
us  to  our  deaths.  At  length  I  turned  round  to 
find  his  body  also,  but  it  was  not  there ;  only  I  came 
upon  a  trail  of  blood  leading  through  the  tunnel. 
So  I  crawled,  following  it  out  into  the  morning. 

"  The  sun  was  already  a  hand's  breath  above  the 
peaks,  and  a  light  wind  blew  that  revived  me.  The 
trail  was  easy  to  follow,  clear  and  well-marked.  It 
led  over  a  hummock,  and  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
hummock  was  an  upland  pool  of  very  deep  water. 


HOW  THE  END  CAME  309 

The  trail  led  me  to  the  high  rocky  bank  of  this 
pool  and  there  was  an  end  of  it." 

And  there,  too,  is  an  end  of  the  statement  of 
Cifuentes. 

Whether  or  no  that  mountain  tarn  holds  the 
mortal  remains  of  Don  Q.  must  remain  for  ever 
a  mystery.  It  may  be  so.  One  thing  only  is  certain. 
Never  again  did  any  see  him  in  Spain.  So  many 
think  him  dead.  But  others  say  that  far  away  in 
Mexico  a  grim  old  monk  is  making  atonement  for 
the  sins  of  his  life,  and  that  he  rules  his  savage 
Indian  converts  with  bitter  rods.  They  tell,  also, 
how  night  by  night  the  white-washed  shrine  of 
San  Pedro  of  Ometepec  rings  with  the  chanting  of 
masses  for  the  soul  of  one  Robledo  el  casador,  who 
lies  asleep  in  the  little  graveyard  of  that  other  chapel 
of  San  Pedro,  far  away  among  the  cloudy  Spanish 
hills. 


THE  END 


THE  DASHING  NOVEL 

THE 

COLONEL 
OF  THE 
RED  HUZZARS 


By 
JOHN  REED  SCOTT 


Stirring  adventures,  courtly  intrigue,  and  fencing  both 
of  sword  and  wit,  fill  the  pages  of  this  story.  The  plot  is 
built  upon  a  wager  between  Major  Dalberg,  U.  S.  A.,  and 
a  friend  that  within  a  certain  time  both  would  be  dining 
with  the  king  and  dancing  with  the  princess  royal  of  Va- 
leria. Strangely  enough,  Dalberg  proves  to  be  of  the  blood 
royal  of  Valeria,  is  reinstated  into  his  ancestral  rights,  and 
when  matters  are  about  to  reach  a  climax,  the  pretender 
steps  in,  and  there  ensues  an  encounter  between  American 
pluck  and  unscrupulous  cleverness. 

"  There's  not  a  dull  page  in  it."— 7*^  Index,  Pittsburg. 

"  A  slap-dashing  vacation-day  romance." — Evening  Sun,  New  York. 

"  So  naively  fresh  in  its  handling,  so  plausible  through  its  naturalness* 
that  it  conies  like  a  mountain  breeze  across  the  far-spreading  desert  of 
similar  rovaz.ncts.''^— Gazette- Times,  Pittsburg. 

lUustntion*  in  Colon  by  CLARENCE  F.  UNDERWOOD 
I2nio.        D«corftted  cloth.  II.50 


J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia 


BREAKERS 
AHEAD 


-A   NEW   AMERICAN   NOVEL- 


of  love  and  plot,  full  of  excitement  and  incident,  by 

A.  MAYNARD  BARBOUR 

Author  of 
"That  Mainwaring  Affair"  (12  editions) 

♦•At  the  Time  Appointed  **  (10  editions) 

"Mac"  Denning  is  a  man  of  great  force  of 
character,  resourceful,  clever,  and  attractive,  but 
very  selfish.  He  accumulates  a  large  fortune  in 
mines  and  banking,  but  still  he  is  not  happy,  for 
he  can  not  throw  off  the  memory  of  the  wife  he 
had  deserted  because  of  her  inferior  social  posi- 
tion. The  latter  part  of  the  story  is  full  of 
dramatic  incidents,  when  an  attractive  widow 
with  a  lovable  little  daughter,  and  his  son,  whom 
he  has  never  seen,  appear  on  the  scene. 

"  A  novel  to  stir  the  pulse  of  the  most  blas6  reader  of  fiction."— ^oj/on 
Herald. 

"Full  of  action  and  with  a  remarkably  effective  ending.''— Record- 
Herald,  Chicago. 

"  Constantly  grows  in  interest  as  it  progresses  and  in  its  concluding 
chapters  becomes  so  tense  that  it  leaves  the  reader  no  option  but  to  finish 
it  before  putting  it  do^tn.''— Evening  Telegraph,  Philadelphia. 

Frontispiece  in  colors,  by  James  L.  Wood 
12nio.    Decorated  cloth,  $1.50 


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PHILADELPHIA 


"A  remarkable  book." — Chicago  Tribune 

me     ~ 

An^el  of  Pain 

BY  E.  F.  BENSON 

Author  of  "The  Chailoners."  "The  Image  in 
the  Sand,"  "  Dodo."  etc.,  etc. 

THIS  genuine  love  story  takes  the  reader  among 
beautiful  country  scenes  in  England,  and  tells 
of  a  great  sacrifice  for  love.  It  involves  the 
happiness  of  two  men  who  were  great  friends,  but  in 
love  with  the  same  woman.  The  disappointment  of 
one  causes  their  estrangement,  though  they  finally 
are  united  as  brothers  for  a  time  by  the  "Angel  of 
Pain.'*  The  character  of  Tom  Merivale  brings  into 
the  book  a  touch  of  the  supernatural.  A  hermit  by 
choice,  he  lived  in  a  forest  and  possessed  a  strange 
power  over  birds  and  beasts,  with  whom  he  talked 
familiarly. 

"One  of  the  best  of  the  present-day  novels." — Pittsburg  Dispatch. 

•'Marie  Corelli  herself  could  not  have  invented  a  more  wonderful  char- 
acter than  Tom  Merivale." — Baltimore  News. 

'*  A  distinct  achievement;  it  ^r  exceeds  anything  its  talented  author  has 
previously  produced." — Newark  Evening  Nevus. 

12 mo.    Cloth.  |I. SO 


J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia 


V  A  N  I  T  Y 

square: 

A  novel  o»^ 

FiftH  Avenue  Life 

By 

Kdi^ar  Saltus 

AtatHor  otf 

"A  TrmnsactioA    ix%.    Hearts,**    *«  THe   Ferfame 

o/  Eros**'  etc. 

GERALD  UXHILL  had  everything  thit  a  man  is  sup- 
posed to  need  to  make  him  perfectly  happy — wealth, 
social  position,  a  beautifUl  home,  a  charming  wife,  and 
a  dear  little  daughter — yet  a  longing  for  something,  he  knew 
not  what,  possessed  him.  The  story  tells  of  a  strange  experi- 
ence that  comes  to  him  and  almost  miraculously  reveals  the 
true  value  of  his  greatest  possession — the  love  and  devotion  of 
his  wife — and  brings  contentment. 

**A  smart  and  intcresring  story." — Saturday  Timei,  New  Tork. 

"A  striking  story,  full  of  dramatic  passages  and  with  more  than  one 
thrill  to  it." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"A  remarkable  story  in  more  senses  than  one.  If  you  are  in  quest  of 
something  entirely  original;  something  that  will  fiimisli  food  for  thought, 
by  all  means  read  •  Vanity  Square.'  " — Index ^  Pittsburg. 

12  mo.    Decorated  Cloth,  |I.2S 
J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia 


THE  WIFE   OF 
THE  SECRETARY  OF  STATE 

By  ELLA  MIDDLETON  TYBOUT 
Author  of  "  PoKETOWN  People." 


Elustrated.     12  mo.      Cloth,  $1.30. 


"  The  story  holds  one's  interest  to  the  end." 

— Chicago  Evening  Post 

*' Will  gratify  the  admirers  of  literary  sensation.** 

— Pittsburgh  Times. 

' '  A  strong  and  entertaining  novel  of  Washington 
society,  of  a  devoted  wife  with  an  unhappy  past,  of 
plotting  for  state  papers,  of  the  unexpected  final 
chivalry  of  a  Russian  count,  of  other  love  interests. 
A  book  to  be  read  at  a  sitting,  tender  and  true  to  life. ' ' 

— Chicago  Record' HeraJd. 

* '  The  author  of  *  Poketown  People  *  has  bettered 
her  best.  Her  novel  contains  in  abundance  every 
quality  that  mades  for  excellent  reading.  Get  it  quick 
and  read  it  slowly." —    Washington  Mirror, 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA 


THE  CHALLONERS 

By    E.    F.    BENSON 

l2fno.     Cloth,  $1.^0. 

The  theme  is  a  father's  concern  lest  his  children 
become  contaminated  by  what  he  considers  an  un- 
wholesome social  atmosphere.  The  book  is  filled  with 
Mr.  Benson's  clever  observations  on  the  English  smart 
set,  and  the  love-story  shows  him  at  his  best. 


MORGANATIC 

By  max  NORDAU 


l2mo.      Decorated  cloth,  $1.^0, 


This  new  book  by  the  author  of  '*  Degeneration," 
has  many  of  the  qualities  which  gave  its  predecessor 
such  a  phenomenal  sale.  It  is  a  study  of  morgan- 
atic m?»Tiage,  and   fiill   of  strong  situations. 


T.  B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,    PHILADELPHIA 


THE    RAVANELS 

By  HARRIS  DICKSON 
With  four  illustrations  by 

SEYMOUR   M.    STONE 


i2mo.      Cloth,  $1.50 


A  novel  of  cleverness,  with  a  capital  plot,  sur- 
prising climaxes,  and  a  love-story  of  unusual 
sweetness. 

*  •  The  developments  of  the  story  are 
unexpected  and  very  dramatic,  the 
characters  are  drawn  with  much  clever- 
ness, and  there  is  a  love-story  of  unusual 
beauty. ' '  — Nashville  American. 

* '  The  tragedy  of  the  story  is  admir- 
ably mellowed  with  its  pathos.  The 
characters  are  skillfully  drawn  and  a  gen- 
uine depth  of  interest  is  aroused  which 
never  flags  until  the  book  ends,  amid  all 
its  sorrows,  with  happiness  and  cheer." 
— New  York  Times. 

'  *  No  son  or  daughter  of  the  South 
who  loves  her  traditions  and  ideals  can 
read  '  The  Ravanels '  inappreciatively.  . 
.  .  Its  thrilling  climaxes  and  extra- 
ordinary situations  hold  the  interest  and 
stamp  the  work  a  success.  *  * 

— Advertiser ^  Newark,  N  J. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA 


THE   IMAGE   IN    THE  SAND 

A  Lovc-Story  Dealing  with  the  Occult. 
By  E.   F.  BENSON 


i2mo.     Cloth,  $i.so 


"  The  Image  in  the  Sand  "  is  a  book  that  will  en- 
tertain every  novel-reader  and  provoke  discussion.  It 
speaks  emphatically  for  the  development  of  Mr. 
Benson's  powers  as  a  writer,  though  it  also  emphasizes 
that  lightness  of  touch  and  happy  faculty  for  sketching 
character  in  outline  which  have  marked  his  several 
former  books. 

"Spiritualism,  hypnotism,  demoniac 
possession,  white  and  black  magic, 
Oriental  theosophy — all  are  found  among 
the  component  parts  of  this  tale.  The 
denouement  is  decidedly  original  and 
highly  imaginative.  Decidedly,  'The 
Image  in  the  Sand  *  will  not  fail  to  make 
a  strong  appeal  to  every  one  who  has  any 
love  for  the  marvellous  and  the  unknown 
— or  who  appreciates  a  very  well-written 
story." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

'  *  The  author  of  '  Dodo '  has  written  a 
*  thriller. '  It  is  a  spiritualistic  story.  Mr. 
Benson  sets  part  of  his  story  in  the  East, 
and  part  in  London,  and  tells  it  in  a 
manner  to  keep  the  reader  wide  awake 
and  interested  to  the  end.  * ' 

—Globe,  N.    Y. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA 


THE    VORTEX 

By  THOMAS  McKEAN 


l2mo.     Decorated  Cloth,  $1.^0 


The  love-story  is  laid  in  Italy,  and  has  to  do  with 
the  battle  of  two  personalities.  The  leading  characters 
are  drawn  with  a  firmness  and  skill  that  will  interest 
every  reader. 

'  *  Mr.  McKean  gets  enviably  far  away 
from  the  smart  novel  that  has  the  divorce 
court  as  its  finale  and  the  trite  conclusion. 
A  powerful  moral  novel,  .  .  .  that  has 
little  to  do  with  the  frivolities. '  * 

—  Washington    Club  Fellow. 


THE    CHALLONERS 

By  E.  F.  BENSON. 


i2ino.      Cloth,  $i.So 


*'When  we  remembered  that  E.  F. 
Benson  was  the  author  of  *Dodo,*  a 
book  about  which  every  one  was  talking 
a  few  years  ago,  we  expected  to  find  that 
he  had  given  us  something  pretty  good 
in  *  The  Challoners. '  We  read  it,  breath- 
lessly and  absorbedly,  and  then  we  were 
of  the  opinion  that  he  had  given  us  a 
novel  that  is  better  than  the  book  which 
made  him  famous." 

— Newark  Adertiser. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA 


THAT  MAINWARING  AFFAIR 

By  A.  MAYNARD  BARBOUR. 
Illustrated  by  E.  Plaisted  Abbott,     xamo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


**  Possibly  in  a  detective  story  the  main  object  is  to  thrill.  If  so, 
*That  Mainwaring  Affair'  is  all  right.  The  thrill  is  there,  full 
measure,  pressed  down  and  running  over." — Life,  New  York. 

**The  book  that  reminds  one  of  Anna  Katherine  Green  in  her 
palmiest  days.  .  .  .  Keeps  the  reader  on  the  alert,  defies  the  efforts 
of  those  who  read  backwards,  deserves  the  applause  of  all  who  like 
mystery." — Town  Topics y  New  York. 

**  The  tale  is  well  told,  and  the  intricacies  of  the  plot  so  adroitly 
managed  that  it  is  imf>ossible  to  foresee  the  correct  solution  of  the 
mysterious  case  until  the  final  act  of  the  tragedy.  .  .  .  Although 
vividly  told,  the  literary  style  is  excellent  and  the  story  by  no  means 
sensational,  a  fact  that  raises  it  above  the  level  of  the  old-time  detec- 
tive story." — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

"The  book  will  hold  the  reader's  attention  from  beginning  to 
end. ' '  —Press,  Philadelphia. 

**  A  novel  with  a  most  intricate  and  carefully  unraveled  plot.  .  .  . 
The  treatment  is  pleasantly  original,  and  the  book  can  be  safely 
recommended  to  the  reader  who  likes  his  fiction  to  baffle  him  until 
the  author  is  willing  to  make  it  clear." — North  America^,  Phila- 
delphia. 

*'It  is  a  thrilling  story  of  crime  and  intrigue,  entirely  free  from 
brutality  of  thought  or  coarseness  of  expression.  The  author  has 
fine  command  of  language  and  the  faculty  of  leaving  just  enough 
unsaid  to  keep  interest  at  the  highest  pitch." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  reader  will  be  a  good  guesser,  indeed,  if  he  solves  this  mys- 
tery story  before  the  author  does  it  for  him.  A  pleasant  love  interest 
nms  through  the  pages." — Rocky  Mountain  News,  Denver. 

**  Stories  of  this  kind  are  far  from  novel,  but  few  of  them  have 
been  wrought  with  so  much  literary  skill  as  'That  Mainwaring 
Affair.'  " — Evening  Wisconsin,  Milwaukee. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA 


YB  31844 


